


Like Moth to Flame

by Angelwrath



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Canon Het Relationship, Daddy Issues, Drama & Romance, F/M, Forbidden Love, Movie Quotation(s), Slow Burn, Telepathic Bond, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3486092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelwrath/pseuds/Angelwrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elves and dwarves are enemies in the Third Age, but what if that enemy ensnares your heart?   Wicked little Cupid strikes again, and the laws of attraction clash with the rules of fate to wreak havoc on the lives of an elf warrior and two princes.  But the bigger question…will it matter at all when their peoples wage war, and all of Middle Earth is threatened by the resurgence of a powerful evil? What is the true power of Eros to alter destiny?</p><p>Setting: DOS, BOFA and beyond,  alternate storyline<br/>Pairing: Kili and Tauriel<br/>Characters: All canon Tolkien and Jackson; some OCs.<br/>(Moderate editing of the same story on FanFiction.Net)</p><p>Disclaimer blabber: Not my characters,  no copyright infringement intended, don't receive any monies for this, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Authors note:  
> From the first time I saw these three in the “Desolation” I was undeniably hooked: Kili is adorable, Tauriel is irresistible, and Legolas is…well…Legolas (swoon). Problem is their people hate each other; oh and some are supposed to die in the Battle of the Five Armies, in the world of Tolkien. Still, that horrid fact did not deter me from shipping something awful…  
> I don’t own any of this remarkable story, just my own storyline I formed with the characters. I assume you have seen the movies, so I don’t go crazy reiterating all the lines verbatim; but I do work in all the ones I want to. I cling to canon, but this is not intended to be just a novelization. I like to write between the given lines and expand upon the scenes that we don’t get to see, intermingled with my own alterations.  
> This is a reworked version of my story on FF.Net I will leave my authors notes just as they were when I wrote it, just to give you some context as to the timing (for example, what I wrote before seeing the trailers, then BOFA.)  
> Warnings include spoilers, violence, mature situations, will probably become explicit just because that is how I fly. I refer to Tolkien's vast universe for details and inspiration...

_Now, this is just not fair._

Kili thought this as he struggled with the monster, valiantly fighting to keep the large spider’s razor sharp jaws out of the range of his face and arms. Kili had heard when the rest of the dwarves were caught up in an ambush, so he tried to crawl into the brush and hide, but then this giant spider found him. He finally distracted the black beast by a swift, hard kick; but that just seemed to enrage it more. He finally yelled out in pain as it grabbed his foot. Next, his hand was struck by a furry appendage and his weapon launched out of his reach.

"From bad to worse." Kili groaned, and grabbed the fangs threatening to spear his throat with his bare hands...

Just as he thought himself definite spider food, his blood slated to be turned into the next liquid meal of his assailant, the beast above him was felled by an arrow. He spotted her out of the corner of his eye…his savior came rushing down from the canopy in the form of a she-elf archer with flaming red hair.  But... she was no ordinary, lithe tall thing, she was rapid movement, muscle and deadly precision.

She was…astounding.

Kili tore his eyes away from her to check on the progress of the latest beast scurrying towards him.

“Throw me a dagger! Quick!” Kili shouted urgently, above the shrieks of dying monsters.

“If you think I am giving you a weapon, dwarf, you are mistaken.” the she-warrior growled, as a precisely aimed projectile skewered the pea brain of the spider bearing down on him.

Even though she denied him a weapon to save himself, Kili was begrudgingly  impressed as she lay to waste the rest of the monsters surrounding them. The skill of a woodland elf warrior was a spectacle to see, but it seemed even more so in the feminine form; refined, graceful, smoother than her male counterparts. Kili’s frustration turned into wonder and he looked on, wide eyed, as she gloated subtly over her arachnid kills.

Kili knew he and his dwarf brethren were in trouble, captured by the wood elves; a darker, bitter, and more dangerous crew than their Rivendell counterparts, But at least they were no longer in imminent danger of death by spider. But Kili could not bring himself to worry about that. In a way, Kili felt he was now in even more danger, but of a different sort.

Kili was guided none too gently by his savior-captor elf to the rest of the group, but he found himself stealing awkward glances at the red haired fighter. The chiseled elven features were sharp on her face, more sharp than that of the maids he saw at Rivendell. She looked at him harshly, no deference in her stony gaze. Her visage was a practiced, tight mask of authority and control. Kili felt the heat threaten to color his cheeks so he turned his face down, away from her, and concentrated on his feet, crunching through the underbrush. It must have made him look a bit bashful, because when he looked up again, a slight wrinkle formed between her brows and her hard green eyes softened a bit. Just for a moment.

They had been captured by the Silvan guard. When they joined the group, Kili overheard the she-elf warrior being called Tauriel, and the way she barked at the rest of the soldiers around her, he surmised she must be some kind of leader.  Tauriel approached and talked urgently with a blonde fighter, the one she called Legolas, which was the only one she showed any deference to.  His mannerism was menacing, domineering and angry towards everyone, especially his uncle Thorin. Except for when he set his eyes on Tauriel. Kili’s heart twisted. The blonde elf’s shoulders were decorated with the finest elven armor, indicating he was an important elf of high position; Legolas was the one in command here.

 _Tauriel. A beautiful name for such a..._ Kili thought, shaking his head, growling to himself in frustration. _Kili, stop looking at her. She’s a bloody elf._

Kili remained largely quiet for the trip in, stripping off the sticky webs that covered him before they entered through the gates of Mirkwood, a tall, beautiful structure that almost completely incorporated itself into its surroundings.  They were led over arching, delicate walkways that looked like the twisted roots of a massive tree, then they were led down to the dungeon.

As he was led to his cell, by the same she-elf, he looked to his right and saw his brother being stripped of the remainder of his hidden weapons. The knife buried in Fili’s jacket must have been his last one, because he heard Fili groan and saw him roll his eyes before being pushed unceremoniously into the awaiting cell. Kili looked up to his captor. The one who was imprisoning him gazed down on him with an uncaring gaze. He tried to not notice her delicate features, and tried to seem angry, but then, despite himself, his playful side jumped out.

“Aren’t you going to search me? I could have anything down my trousers…” He said, with feigned seriousness. He could barely keep his face straight...Her eyes were cold.

“Or nothing at all.” She returned, her eyes turning into a teasing, yet cautionary expression. She pushed him in the cell, shutting the ornate gate with a clang. Kili’s breath was taken away.

_Not only beauty but she has a biting wit as well. Oh my gods…I am lost..._

Kili's  eyes were drawn to look upon the sleek movements of the she-elf as she floated down the stairs towards Legolas. The fire colored hair wafted gently around her strong shoulders, waving behind her strong body as he watched... Kili leaned into the gate and let his eyes float over her...the gentle curves of her body's silhouette, the waves of her hair as it cascaded past her shoulders, the long, strong limbs, and delicate hands and feet...He felt a smile force its way on his face...he finally remembered to breathe.

It was then that Kili saw the warrior man-elf glance at him with distain, and then have slightly tense words with Tauriel. Kili could see the look Legolas gave the she elf; it was one of concern, but something more was there…This exchange was curious.

When Tauriel finally left his sight, Legolas looked towards Kili again with a warning, angry glare. Kili shrunk back into the shadows of his cell, and then settled himself down on the stone bench to mope.

He took out his rune stone, rubbing his fingers over the etched symbols as his mind mulled over these occurrences.

_A fine mess we are in now. How in Middle Earth are we to get to the mountain in time for the last light of autumn? But I wonder…why did that elf catch my eye? She is an enemy, yet…I can’t think of her as that...she saved me. Tauriel...she is a great warrior, that is easy to see. Yet, I cant deny it... she stirs me from within. Now can’t think of anything else. Gods, I can’t let my brother know what I am feeling. He would never let me live it down. In any case, I must treat her as an enemy, even if I feel differently. I can ignore it._

Some time passed, and growing bored and restless, Kili started to toss the rune stone up in the air. Up and down, up and down. A movement on the stairs caught his eye. It was Tauriel, checking on them, strolling slowly from cell to cell. His breath caught in his chest and his mouth became dry…

______________________

Tauriel walked down the stairs, away from the rude little dwarf, a little put out by the insinuation but despite herself, she was amused at the brief exchange. The young dwarf had the audacity to try and make a joke. Thinking on it again, this dwarf did not seem to have the deep hatred for her that the others seemed to emit. A small smile played upon her lips.

Tauriel had her eye on this particular dwarf ever since they were in the forest.  When descending on their invaders, she heard a yell and she rushed towards the call. She observed the young dwarf from the canopy for a second or two; he fought valiantly against the giant spiders but was unfamiliar with their weaknesses and wasted his efforts. When she saw him lose his weapon, she knew he was in trouble so she rushed in to save him. Ever since then, he was quiet, shyly avoiding her gaze. Until now.

Legolas stood before her looking somewhat perturbed. He addressed her in a low voice in elvish.

“ _Why does the dwarf stare at you_?” He said. She looked back at Legolas with a questioning gaze. Was that …jealousy she was witnessing?

Legolas was right, though. No one in Mirkwood stared at her like the dwarf did. She was in a military world, and excelled in it. The other soldier elves treated her with a mix of fear and respect. Only Legolas dared to smile at her and treated her with a calm camaraderie, a familiarity born from their many years together as…partners? Friends?

“ _Who can say_?” she said, making light of it, the female within in her a little intrigued by the idea that this young dwarf was staring at her.

Tauriel had not failed to notice the dwarf’s wavy dark locks, his warm, tan skin; he was so unlike many of the others. His face was not hidden by the long, bushy beards seen on his companions. He had a shadow of a beard that revealed his slim, strong face and relatively angular features, which also meant he was quite young, a fraction of her age, no doubt. His features also seemed more refined in comparison to his companions. And his eyes were dark and wide, warm and soft. And staring at her.

“ _He is quite tall for a dwarf_ …” she said, a little wistfully. Then she caught herself…” _Don’t you think_?” she asked Legolas, before practically running down the stairs.

“ _Taller than some...but no less ugly_ …” Legolas shouted after her, no doubt for the dwarf to hear his tone as well. Jealousy it was. But Tauriel just could not agree with his assessment… No doubt the young dwarf would be considered handsome, by dwarf standards. And, surprisingly, by hers as well.

_________________

Kili tossed his stone up and down, taking a moment to glance at the guard advancing slowly. Tauriel wafted by his cell, and unbelievably, she stopped and addressed him.

“The stone in your hand. What is it?” She asked. Gentle curiosity fluttered over her face. Kili, intent on trying to hate her, like he knew he should, answered.

“A talisman” Kili replied, in a low voice, trying to be menacing. “A powerful spell lies upon it if any but a dwarf reads the runes upon this stone—they will be forever cursed!” He said, holding it up with a hard stare. She looked taken aback, even a little hurt, and turned to leave. Kili had fully expected her to refute him. His heart sank. Oh no…this was not going at all the way he wanted it to.

“Or not…” Kili said, quickly. Tauriel stopped and turned her head towards him, her face still upset. Kili immediately let down his feigned defenses. He would do anything to keep her there... “Depending on if you believe that kind of thing. It is just a token.” He said, with a gentle smile.

Tauriel responded beautifully, her eyes and face changing into slight confusion, then they relaxed, a small smile coming to rest on her lips. She turned to face him. Kili's heart skipped a beat. There was no way he could hate this she-elf. He decided to continue.

“My mother gave it to me so I would remember my promise.” He threw up the stone again after glancing at her, happy at seeing her fully engaged.

“What promise?” she asked softly, her voice more feminine than it had yet been.

“That I would come back to her…” he smiled. “She worries. She thinks I am reckless.”   he continued. A coy smile played on Tauriel’s lips, as her eyes met his.

_Oh heavens. I know I should be thinking about how to attack her, or something, but…I cannot._

“Are you?” she asked.

“Nah…” Kili responded, with a smile. Just then, he faltered, and the rune stone fell on the ground, skittering towards the edge. In a quick motion, Tauriel stepped on the stone, preventing it from falling further into the darkness below. She held it up to the light, negating his previous threat of her turning to  stone. He stood up, closer to the gate. She turned back to him.

“Sounds like quite a party you are having up there…” Kilisaid, urging the conversation forth.

__________

Tauriel smiled. A real, relaxed smile, for the first time in a long time. She felt the warmth permeate her, flow over her body as she gazed on the face of the young dwarf. Yes, he must be young. Young and flirtatious. But she did not care. She was basking in the glow of this unexpected, stimulating exchange. He urgently wanted to communicate with her, that was clear, so it was a good thing he had given up on the rude teasing.

“It is Mereth Nuin Galiath, a feast of starlight.” She answered. Kili was listening intently, as she stepped away from him. “All light is sacred to the Elda. What wood elves love best is the light of the stars.” When she looked back at him, he was pensive.

“I always thought it was a cold light; remote and far away.” He said, with a curious expression she could not place. Tauriel had to disagree.

“It is memory. Precious and pure.” She said, looking down at the rune stone. “Like your promise.” When she handed him back his stone, and his fingers brushed her palm, she felt something stir within her.

_Why do I feel so comfortable with him? He is a prisoner, yet I feel more at ease in his presence than with anyone else here. Well, almost anyone. How curious...he must be quite a special dwarf._

“I have walked there sometimes. Beyond the forest and up into the night. I have seen the world fall away and the white light forever fill the air.” She said, walking away, looking up.

“I saw a fire moon once. It rose over the pass near Dunland…Huge! Red and gold it was, it filled the sky. We were an escort for some merchants from Ered Luin. They were trading in silverwork for furs…”

Tauriel approached closer, as the dwarf went on talking, sitting down on a nearby step to be at eye level. She was listening to his words, the sound of his low, textured voice, getting engrossed in the details. She took him all in; his relaxed stance, the expressions changing on in his face as he spoke. This dwarf had an easy going, jovial way about him that she found disarming. His eyes were dark, yet so warm, full of energy and life. The smile he gave in response to her own was, in a word, sweet.

And the way he looked at her when she spoke: it was not the cold, harsh gaze of the King or her subordinates, or the leering glare she sometimes got from others who soon were sorry for making that mistake. It was a look of wonder and… longing? Nowhere in his eyes was there the hatred so well-known between their two peoples.

“We took the greenway south keeping the mountain to our left and then it appeared. This huge fire moon, lighting our path. I wish I could show you.” he said, finally finishing his tale. She nodded. He sounded so sincere.

“I would love to see it.” She said, with a smirk. He smiled widely. "You have traveled far, and seen many things, have you?" She asked. Tauriel yearned for the freedom outside of the forest; she cared about the world outside their realm, unlike her King. The dwarf nodded, his brows raising a bit.

"Oh yes...ever since I was able, we traveled over many lands, mainly to the west of the Misty Mountains." He looked down a bit, his brows knitting in thought. "One must always keep their eyes ever open on the road, though."

"Why is that?" she asked, a small smile of curiosity coming over her face.

"You never know when you will come face to face with something dangerous...or so beautiful as to steal your breath..." he said, blinking slowly, his face changing to a more serious expression as he looked at her.  She could practically feel his eyes tracing her face. Then he looked away . "...such as the fire moon, or your stars." He said, softly, looking back at her again.  Tauriel pulled in a small breath, feeling a warmth rise to her cheeks.  She finally remembered her manners.

“What is your name?” she asked, softly. His eyes met hers again, and his head turned sideways slightly, as if surprised at the question.

“I am Kili…of the House of Durin.” He said, with quiet pride. With the small smile, his expression was quite fetching.

“I am Tauriel.” She returned. She felt she should forgo her official title. It would remind them of their actual circumstances as foes. As it was, the tone of their exchange practically made the bars of his cell disappear.

“I know.” Kili said, looking into her eyes, with a little smile. Then he looked away, as if embarrassed. “I…heard the others call you that, so…I guessed it was your name.” He explained.

“Whom did you hear calling my name?” she asked.

“The blonde warrior. “ Kili said, his face becoming serious. She blinked quickly. This young dwarf, Kili, was quite observant.

“That was Prince Legolas.” She said, sitting up straight, her voice dropping, becoming serious as well. Kili’s shoulders dropped, his head rose up, eyebrows raised, as if in surprise, and then he pushed his lips together and nodded. He averted his eyes.

“He seems to really hate us…” he continued, his low voice intense. His eyes snapped back to meet hers. “Yet he is quite…concerned about you.” he said softly.

Quite observant indeed.

Tauriel heard the unspoken question, saw it in the intensity of his eyes, but Kili did not ask: what was Legolas to her? Tauriel, herself, was unsure of the answer to that one…

“Tauriel…” She nearly jumped at the sound of Legolas’ voice echoing off the cold, wet walls. She stood up and spun her head around. Legolas was standing on a stair several levels above her, his handsome face in a mildly disapproving scowl. She wondered how long he had been there, observing. “ _You are being missed at the celebration_ …” he said, in elvish, his eyes intense. He meant she was missed by him, she assumed. She then turned her body to face Legolas and crossed her arms.

“ _I will be there in a few moments_.” She said, a little insistently. Legolas gave a glare towards the cell, then back at her, his eyes softening, pursing his lips. She tilted her head and returned the hard stare.

“ _Very well_.“ he said, turning to leave, decidedly in a slight huff. Tauriel turned back around to face Kili, who was looking up at Legolas with mistrust. His eyes fell upon her again.

“Duty calls.” Kili remarked, his low voice tinged with a little bitterness. He looked down, and seemed to remember their particular situation as he put his hands up against the bars of his cell. Tauriel looked at him and sighed; disappointed the magical moment they shared was at an end. She managed a little smile, her eyes soft, finding his.

“Goodbye, Kili.” She said.

“Goodbye, Tauriel.” Kili said, his low voice a little sad. He backed away from the low light into the shadows of the cell.

Captive and captor again, Tauriel turned slowly, and walked up the stairs away from Kili, back to join her own kin. Yet within her mind, she was worlds more confused than ever before. She would have to rethink everything she was ever told about dwarves…


	2. Hidden in the shadows...

Rather than make her way up to the festivities just yet, Tauriel glanced downstairs, and decided to take a small detour past the storeroom. She heard the men talking and decided to listen in.

“You should have had these barrels sent down the river long ago. The bargeman will be waiting for them.” One of the elves said.

“We need more drink!” She heard another say. “Their thirst is great upstairs tonight. Even the dwarves in the dungeon can hear the festivities.” She smiled to herself. That was true.

“Think what you want of our ill-tempered king. At least he has excellent taste in wine. ”  

If they only knew she was listening, they may not have been so free with their words. She knit her brows and left, heading back up to the top of the caverns, towards the king’s throne room. She would not tell Thranduil what she heard. She sighed to herself.

These men did respect their king, but many did not like him. They just saw the cold, harsh, stern ruler that led with an iron fist. If only these men knew him when he was just a little younger, like she did, before he became as isolationistic as he was now. It was then he earned her undying respect and fealty. Despite what they thought, he did have a heart.

Tauriel remembered meeting the King clearly, long ago. She barely remembered her life before then; and like most things, it was probably better that way. Tauriel paused at the entrance to the throne room, leaning against the living wall.

She remembered the day, vaguely, as being a nice one. Her parents had taken their young, energetic elfling out for a long stroll, wandering the edges of the forest. She skipped away, crawling under some bushes to grab some sweet looking berries that were hanging low. She gathered up a few and plunked herself down, eating them, smiling to herself.

“Tauriel? Tauriel! She heard her mother say, with urgency. Tauriel peeked out from the bush and looked into her mother’s frightened eyes.

“Momma?” she said, remembering becoming instantly scared.

“Stay there child! Hide yourself! Whatever happens, be silent!” her mother said, quickly, in a whisper.

Tauriel saw the sword in her mother’s hand and heard her father call out for her. Tauriel obeyed and crawled back under the bush, shaking, terrified. It all happened so fast… she heard clashes of metal, and heard the grunts and squeals of monsters. And then she heard the screams of her mother…then her father… then the forbidding evil cackle of something wretched and sinister.  

She froze and could barely breathe, in shock. She strained to look through the thick branches before her as the grey-black beasts walked past her, not seeing her. Tauriel’s heart broke within her. She hugged her knees tightly and the silent tears started to stream down her face. She could not move, paralyzed, terrified, alone in her little hidden refuge below the bushes…

She did not know how much later it was when she heard the voices. Elven voices. The woods were shadowy and dark.

“Here! I found another one…oh my gods…” she vaguely heard one of them say. “He is coming this way…we must show him what they have done…”

“What else have you found…Oh no…” she heard. It was the voice she now knew as King Thranduil. She remembered hearing the pain in those few words he spoke. Then she heard an exasperated cry and a metallic scrape she now knew too well…the unsheathing of a sword. She crouched down and crawled towards the opening.

“Where are those beasts?! I will tear them limb from limb for what they have done…” she heard him say, his voice cracking and full of emotion. Through the thick branches, she saw him striding her way, wildly enflamed. She blinked, wide eyed as she saw the tall, stunning elf turning around, searching. He looked around him intently, brandishing a long, silvery shimmering sword, as handsome and powerful as the elf that held it.

She remembered, as that child in the bush, she was in awe, not scared, of the splendid warrior she saw before her. He was in a rich brown and gold long vestment, one that flowed magnificently as he moved.   A thin, low band of sparkling diamonds went to a point on his forehead, and curved over the silver-blonde hair that wafted around his shoulders. As he turned, his angry, steel grey eyes, so imposing below strong, dark eyebrows, glared all around. Soldiers appeared beside and behind him.

“It would be a good day and not soon enough when the last putrid bit of blood of those demons is spilt.” He growled. “How dare they trample my woods…”

“I am afraid the orks are long gone, my lord.” One of the elf soldiers said. “The elven couple are long dead.” Thranduil stood up, the tight hold on his sword making his knuckles turn white. He was breathing heavily with anger.

“There is still something lurking about. I can sense it…” he said, looking from tree to tree with furrowed brows.   The king’s sensitive ears heard little Tauriel as she moved. His head whipped around and his eyes focused where she was. There was a flash of anger as he rushed towards the bush, then confusion floated over his eyes.

Tauriel did not even know she had let out a pitiful little whimper.

“My gods…”Thranduil said, stopping short. She saw him sheath his weapon and hand it to one of the guards. Then he slowly approached the bush she was in. She saw him blink rapidly, emotions fluttering over his face… then she saw his eyes become soft, and his pale lips formed a thin line.

“My lord?” said one of the guards.

“Shush!” Thranduil said, a warning command to the guard. It made her jump and the bush above her quiver.

“Hush, youngling. There is no need to hide anymore. Come on out. It is safe. I won’t hurt you…” he said, his voice low and gentle. “Come…” he pleaded softly.  

A trembling little Tauriel slowly crawled out of the bush, much to the amazement of the guards surrounding them. She heard gasps all around her. The poor little elfling, she heard them say.Despite all of that distraction, she was captivated by the powerful face and the pale grey eyes of the fantastic man in front her, who was now kneeling down.

“Come on…” he urged, his eyes softening as she walked from the tight vegetation to his waiting hand. She reached out and curled her little hand around the long, strong fingers. Approaching him slowly, she sniffled and wiped her eyes. He touched her hair gently, pulled out some leaves, and smoothed it. She was mesmerized by the beautiful, striking, light grey orbs…yet she saw great gentleness in those eyes.

“Oh, little one.” Thranduil murmured, his hands brushing off her clothing gently. “ Are you hurt?” he asked, sweetly, sadly. She shook her head no. “Are you scared?” She nodded.

To the shock of the soldiers around him, Thranduil pulled the she-elfling towards him and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up into his arms, resting her head on his shoulders. She remembered instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his body as he embraced her young form. He held her with the familiar warmth, strength and tenderness of a father, the father he already was to Legolas, who was then fully grown, too big to hold like that anymore.

“It’s alright, little one. You are safe now.” His low voice echoed through her. He kissed her gently on her forehead. It was then that her little body broke down and she started to weep, sobbing uncontrollably against the splendid vestments of this man, the man she later found out was King Thranduil.

He refused to let her go, and much to the dismay of his guards, walked all the way back to the castle with her in his arms, talking with her gently, and promising solemnly that she would be safe, never want for anything, and that her he would take care of her forever…Elflings were a precious, precious treasure.

Tauriel today recalled the gentleness in that voice with a pang in her heart, because she remembered it so well, but rarely heard it like that these days. Back in the present, Tauriel put her hand to her lips, remembering with sadness those early, happy days, when the king used to make her feel special, when she grew up with Legolas beside her, always a little playfully jealous of the attention she was receiving.   But that was not what it was like these days…

“I know you are there. Why do you linger in the shadows?” She heard the low voice of the King address her. Tauriel ran down the stairs and entered his presence. She glanced at him, with that little gasp she always did. She never could control it. Thranduil was always breathtaking to her, even after all these years.

“I was coming to report to you.” she said, confidently.

“I thought I ordered that nest destroyed not two moons past…” He said, his eyes hard and accusing.

“We cleared the forest as ordered, my lord, but more spiders keep coming up from the south. They are spawning in the ruins of Dol Guldor. If we could kill them, at their source…” Tauriel retorted, a little irritated.

“That fortress lies beyond our borders. Keep our lands clear of those foul creatures, that is your task.” Thranduil said, cutting her off. She started to pace back and forth, frustrated.

“And when we drive them off, what then? Will they not spread to other lands?”

This was a constant conflict between the king and the captain of his guard. He constantly shunned outside involvement, and pulled within, while she looked out, beyond their borders for the solutions she felt they would need.

“Other lands are not my concern.” he said, breathy and insistently. Thranduil turned around slowly. “The fortunes of the world will rise and fall, but here, in this kingdom, we will endure.”

Thranduil looked towards the stairs suddenly, as if he had heard something. Tauriel sighed. That was all she would bother to say about the matter, lest she anger him. She turned to leave.

“Legolas said you fought well today.” Thranduil said suddenly. His tone had changed. Tauriel lifted her head. It was not her commanding king speaking anymore. She looked back at him, trying to decipher his expression; it was quizzical, maybe a touch patronizing. “He has grown rather fond of you.” Tauriel blinked in amazement.

“I assure you my lord…Legolas thinks no more of me than a captain of the guard.” She insisted, even though, within, she was a bit elated; and knew better. Yet she was still so confused. This subject…discussing it with his father…this was awkward, in the least.

“Perhaps he did once. Now, I’m not so sure…” he said, in an accusatory tone, walking behind her, out of view. She breathed in hard.

“I…do not think you would allow your son to pledge himself to a lowly Silvan elf.”

“No. You are right. I would not.” Tauriel let her head fall. His subtle, degrading dismissal stung.  “Still… he cares about you.” Tauriel held her breath. “Do not give him hope where there is none.” Thranduil ordered.

Tauriel looked up, her mind reeling. Now she understood why the king wanted to speak to her about this. She started to leave without another word, her heart aching.

“Tauriel.” He said, again, his voice smooth. Tauriel stopped short.

“Yes, my lord.” She said, her voice bitter, shaking. She turned around slowly, her feelings still tender.

“Please realize, little one, I do think highly of you.” Thranduil said, his smooth, low voice gentle.

Thranduil had called her ‘little one’ since she was a child, but never in company. Now, however sweet it sounded, it cut into her. Tauriel kept her eyes averted from his glance. She could feel him looking at her.  

“Do not take my questioning as a lack of trust. You have indeed become one of our best.” He said, walking up to her slowly. “I knew you would be, from the time I found you. You have made me proud of you.” He said.

Tauriel kept her eyes down, unable to meet his. She did not know quite how to take his complements, so soon delivered after his other orders. That she should not let Legolas fall for her because she was not worthy.

“Thank you, my lord.” She said, almost in a whisper. Her eyes rose to meet his. He was close to her now; they were soft, like the time in the woods. Maybe he actually realized just how much his words had hurt. “May I ask a question?” she inquired. Thranduil’s head tilted to the side, and he moved away with that flowing, catlike mannerism.

“Of course.” He replied, although his tone was cautionary.

“What will become of the dwarves we captured today?” She asked, feeling this was the most appropriate time to ask, when he was a little more open. Under the magnificent wooden carved crown, Thranduil’s dark eyebrow raised, and he observed her with those piercing grey eyes, softened with curiosity.

“Their fate unfortunately lies in the hands of their leader.” He said, turning around, his exquisite vestment flowing around as he moved. His grand head lowered. His hand moved over to grasp a crystal glass with burgundy wine. “Thorin is of the house of Durin, the next rightful heir in a line of Dwarf Kings who ruled Erebor in its time of greatness. Yet I feel he too will fall prey to the same weaknesses that caused their downfall.” Thranduil said, with a faraway look.

“I thought they were overcome by the Dragon Smaug...as was Dale…and then in Moria by orks” Tauriel said, an automatic snarl forming on her lips at the mention of orks. She hated orks, reasonably so. She stiffened when Thranduil looked at her harshly while taking a sip from his glass.

“They suffer from stubbornness, pride, and greed.” He said sharply. “It was his grandfather who cheated and denied us what was rightfully ours. If you ask them, it is we who wrong them. But it is Thorin who now refuses to forge an agreement…” he snapped. “They will never change.” He sighed.

“They are not all like that.” She said softly, the memory of her conversation with the young dwarf, Kili,  fresh in her mind. He was of the line of Durin... Thranduil turned around swiftly.

“Do not let them fool you. When surrounded by treasure, they are strongly affected; they horde gold, and isolate themselves away from all other peoples, thinking their riches will save them from everything. They are all the same.” He said, waving his hand. Tauriel looked down, and shook her head slowly; she could not help but to see the parallels.

“Maybe dwarves feel thusly, that all elves are the same. But they are wrong about that. Not all elves are equal. Are they, my lord?” She said sternly. A second later, Tauriel looked up, into her King’s piercing eyes. He glared at her. For a second, she was afraid his gaze slice would slice her in two.

“I am sorry, my lord.” She said. She looked down, practically shrinking beneath his gaze.

“For what are you sorry?” He spat.

“I misspoke, my lord.” Tauriel said, softly, looking at him with trepidation.

Thranduil seethed for a moment, and then he closed his eyes and shook his head. He sighed, relaxed visibly, brought his shoulders down. He turned back to face her. Tauriel was amazed by the transformation.

“Do not be sorry for speaking your mind, Tauriel.” He said. “I may not always like it,” He said, his eyes glued on hers, “but it is still good for me to hear it. Good day, Tauriel.” He said, dismissively, walking away.

“Yes, my lord.” Tauriel breathed a sigh of relief, quickly taking her leave.

* * *

Legolas stood among some of the finest fighters in the hall, all jubilant because of the festival. He looked at each one, now with a small smile on his face, and a masterful nod. Even on such occasions, he knew he could not let his guard down completely.   He was their field leader. He had to act in a way suitable to his stature, at all times. Like his father, Legolas had developed a reputation for being serious and no-nonsense, yet fair and capable in command. He had fought many a year to become the warrior he was; he did not will the fact that he was the Prince give him any leeway. He wanted to earn his position, from the very first day. He had become the best fighter in their land, deadly and strong, and respected by those beneath him for his skill, bravery and brilliance.

Even though they had prisoners now, which was entirely unexpected, he still thought it was safe enough to invite most of the guards, and leave the prisoners largely unguarded. He did feel his blood boil at the sight of his people’s enemies, the Dwarfs, on his land.   For him it was a learned vengeance, nothing personal, really. Thorin and some of the older dwarves seemed to have the hatred of elves deep in their hearts; for them it was personal. He could see it in their eyes; hear it in the words Thorin and his father exchanged earlier. Deep, dark wounds were carved into their hearts.

Legolas did not really quite understand the rivalry. These dwarves were on a mission just crossing through their woods, not looking for a fight.   They were, relatively speaking, not as difficult to deal with as the spider monsters and orks that were blighting their woods, but a problem nonetheless. His brows knit as he remembered what Tauriel had said in the forest, that the spiders, the evil was becoming more bold. He did feel it too, a foreboding, that something was not quite right in their land, and possibly, all of Middle Earth. But his father, King Thranduil, did not feel the need to become connected with the rest of the land; he was content to remain hidden away in their woodland sanctuary. Legolas sighed; he respected his father, but maybe not all his decisions.

Ah, there she was; the best of his fighters. Tauriel. He was relieved she finally took leave of those smelly dwarves. That little young one, the one with no beard, irked him in particular. Tauriel walked up quietly into the hall where the revelers were already becoming quite tipsy. She strolled by, smiling at a few friendly faces. Legolas looked at her for a few moments; her eyes soft, and delicate features smiling at all around her.  She was wearing a long, dark green tunic that allowed some her feminine attributes to show, yet allowed her the movement necessary for fighting.   Her long red hair framed a stoic face, one that, when a smile graced it, could melt his coldness.   It was not often that he looked at his Captain this way.

Legolas had witnessed her rise all the way; taught her swordsmanship and her skill with the bow. He laughed within, remembering how, during training, he would have to physically extract a young, overactive Tauriel off of the other trainees during hand to hand battle. Within that slender body was strength and deadly grace and a fierceness that could not be taught; an aggression that rivaled a thousand orks. He had to teach her how to hone that aggression, turn it into a tool, focus it into a strength.

Recently, Tauriel had been catching his eye for other reasons, he was finding her more and more…attractive. She was a warrior elf; not one fit for paring, his father once told him. His father was one for formalities; he…not so much. Legolas, deep within himself, believed he may have to disagree with his father on this subject, too. He had no intention on being married off for statesmanship sake at one point. Legolas walked slowly towards her; his emotions had changed over the last hours; he was less bothered than he had been about what he saw in the dungeon.

“Good to see you up here so soon, Captain.” He said, eyeing her. She smiled and nodded her head towards him, the only show of reverence he would tolerate from her.

“My Prince.” She said softly, walking by his side slowly. They fell into an easy cadence; one that came from spending much time together. They often fought side by side, working off of each other’s moves so they knew each other’s ways well.

“You did well today, Tauriel.” He said, turning towards her, his face beaming with pride.

“Thank you.” She said, flashing him a bemused smile.  

Tauriel looked into his clear blue eyes, the strong, devastatingly handsome high elf features. He smiled back, leading her before him. She sighed to herself, remembering the discussion with his father… _Do not let him have hope where there is none._

“So…” he said, strolling with her through the hall. “What were you talking about with that ugly little imp?”

“Kili is his name, if you must know. He was asking about the party up here.” She said, looking at him with innocence in her eyes, ignoring his assessment. Legolas did not need to know the full extent of their conversation. “So I was telling him a bit about Elda festivals of light. And he was talking to me on his journeys…” she continued. Legolas let out a choked laugh. Tauriel stared at him, puzzled.

“Oh Tauriel…I don’t know how you could stand it….” he said, trying not to laugh, and he put his hand on her shoulder. “I bet you didn’t even realize…”

“What didn’t I realize?” She asked, stopping short.

“That he was…well…taken with you.” Legolas said, his smile fading. “The way that he was talking to you… how strange it must have felt.” Tauriel looked into his eyes, trying to understand why this amused him so much…

“And what of it?” she said, looking at him pointedly, walking right by him. His expression became serious. He caught up to her.

“He is our prisoner. And a dwarf. He travels with Thorin, our enemy.” He said, growing incredulous. Tauriel pursed her lips.

“He does not seem willing to hate blindly. And he is too young to remember old quarrels.” She said, crossing her arms. “He spoke to me with kindness and treated me like a person. Nothing more, nothing less.” She said.

“Do not let him get any ideas, Tauriel.” Legolas said. “He was just probably trying to get you to set him free.” Tauriel turned around and looked at him harshly.

“I cannot be manipulated that easily, Legolas.” She said, sharply.

“I know, Tauriel.” Legolas said. “I am just…I would not like your good nature to be abused.” He said, trying his best not to inflame her more. Her shoulders relaxed.

“Thank you, but I am capable of taking care of myself in that regard…” she said, with a slight smirk. “Besides, I don’t think he had any such intentions.” She said, strolling away.

“I must disagree.” Legolas said to himself, under his breath, taking an instant dislike to their dwarf guest.

* * *

Kili looked towards the door of the cell, his prison wrapping itself around him once more as Tauriel took her leave. He groaned to himself in frustration.

_Well that encounter was…interesting indeed. Ahh, Tauriel. In just a few minutes, this elf has successfully turned my world upside down. Ugh.  Come on now...I can’t go losing my heart to every beautiful elf that graces me with a glance. But w_ _ow, she is stunning..._

He thought back on their conversation, and all he saw was the sparkle in her eyes; the way her skin glowed, the curve of her neck, the tendrils of firey hair..

 _But why did she stop to speak to me? And stay? I don’t know. She was just being kind; she brought herself down here to check on her prisoners, and she just happened to talk to me. How could Ibelieve there could be anything beyond that?_ Kili thought, chastising himself. 

_But yes, there is something between Tauriel and the one called Legolas, the prince… But what? And should I really care?_

Kili leaned back and sighed. Now he knew he would never get the warrior-elf out of his mind. He held onto the little stone she had given back to him and held it between his fingers.

_Starlight...cold and distant…except when it is warm and near; but yet still infinitely unobtainable._

Hushed, urgent whispering caught his ears and he rushed to the gate. He looked towards the other wall from him and saw Bilbo fumbling with keys at Thorin’s cell…Kili smiled excitedly; never was he so happy that they had a burglar in their midst. They all exited out and noisily gathered on the stairs…

“Not that way, down here, follow me!” Bilbo said. They walked down, down, down into a room, they all were quiet as they all stopped short.  They were looking at two elves, slumped over on a table,  drunk and snoring…

“I don’t believe it! We are in the cellars!” Kili whispered, exasperated.

“You are supposed to be leading us out, not farther in!” Bofur growled.

“Shush! I know what I am doing!” Bilbo said, leading them into the barrel room.

“Everyone, now, climb into the barrels, quickly!” he said.

“What? Are you mad? They are going to find us!” Dwalin said.

“No they won’t, I promise you!” Bilbo insisted. “Please, please, you must trust me!”

They all grumbled. Exasperated, Bilbo turned to Thorin. Everyone looked to Thorin…

“Do as he says.” Thorin ordered. Barreled dwarves it was…One by one they worked themselves into the barrels.

As the dwarves grumbled and moaned about their predicament, Kili looked wistfully upwards, torn a bit inside. He could not help but wonder if he would ever see her again…Tauriel.

“Well, what do we do now?” Bofur asked…everyone poked out their head. Bilbo looked at them seriously.

“Hold your breath…” Bilbo shushed them and pulled a lever.

The floor dropped out beneath them, and Kili squeezed his eyes shut, tightly as they rolled, and rolled and rolled…It was a loud and noisy ride, down the chute and out to the river. Kili thought his world would never stop turning, long after the barrels were dumped from the chute into the raging whitewater. Kili stuck his head out and stared at the churning water, happy there was wood between him and the razor sharp rocks. They all grabbed each other and waited impatiently for Bilbo…

He finally dropped from the chute, flat on his back. He bobbed up, disoriented. He was grabbed at by several strong arms…

“Well done, Master Baggins ” said Thorin, who turned and led them on, out where the water led twisting through the dark caverns.

They saw daylight, finally. As they ambled along, Kili, one of youngest of the dwarves on the expedition actually found some fun in the perilous river journey. He and his brother glanced off and jostled towards each other, forever trying to make light of each situation. The other dwarves were simply just struggling to stay afloat.

With the river gates open ahead, Kili allowed himself a second to become hopeful. Then heard elves shout out from the castle, signaling to the gate keepers downstream. He saw the gates over the river starting to close.

Groaning, he looked to his right and left and saw the hulking, brutish creatures running along the riverbanks, crawling like large, hideous insects along the shoreline, and then he heard the dreadfully familiar low growls…Orks! He looked at them incredulously.

Sitting in a cell in the Mirkwood elf castle, waiting for a red-haired she elf warrior to come and talk to him again was sounding like an extremely good idea at this point. But Kili and his kinsmen were caught between the raging waters and the Orks with no weapons in hand, with warrior wood elves hot on their trail; what a fine, fine mess.

Kili felt his heart sink beneath the raging waters…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Yes, I know I am messing around a little with the order the scenes as they were presented in the movie, don’t kill me. I have my reasons, and, I hope you forgive me…


	3. Barrel Riders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note:
> 
> You will be seeing lots o’ everyone and pairings will become apparent soon…And I am lovin’ my man Thranduil…I will try to follow the storyline of the original hobbit since info on the third movie is scarce, but it is tough when the characters you are writing about are not in the original book, or are barely mentioned. That’s ok. I have an overactive imagination and am not yet out of DOS...  
> I shall try to update about every two weeks or so while the plotlines and dialogue are coming fast and strong. Damn. I have other work to do...ugh.
> 
> AW

Tauriel and Legolas ran towards the river; already the Orks were crawling around and over the rise. Where there attention was first given to the barrels bobbling down the river with their escaped prisoners, their deadly force was now focused on their mutual enemy; with Orks present, neither dwarf nor elf would bother fighting each other.

An anger welled up in Tauriel. She hated orks. In the river, she saw the barrels filled with dwarves, the stupid creatures on the banks trying to get to them. The barrels were now in a jam, stopped by the gate that the guard elves closed. She saw one of the dwarves jump out, evade then engage a burly, clumsy, ork. He grabbed the orks weapon and began using it against several orks around him, clearing his way to the top of the gate…he was going for the lever to open the gate…she sucked in a breath…it was Kili.

A second later, she saw him stop short as an arrow hit him in the leg, just above his knee…he fell to the ground, writhing in pain. A pang of fear hit her chest. She smoothly pulled back her bow, taking aim at the ork now threatening Kili. The exquisitely aimed arrow felled her intended victim…Kili looked her way, breathing heavily. Their eyes came in contact for just a second.

Tauriel continued to fight the orks surrounding her, all the while trying to keep an eye on the gate.

When she turned again, the gate had opened and the barrels were continuing down the river…She saw Kili half jump, half fall into a barrel beneath. Tauriel heard Kili cry out, and it ripped through her heart; she whipped around…he was in the barrel but looking awful…The last she saw him, his face was a mask of pain…

She turned and engaged the remainder of the beasts around her, throwing one into the waters while gouging out the eyes of another with the end of her bow. She felt and heard the hulking beast behind; and unleashed her rage upon him.

* * *

Kili had taken hits before, but never, ever did it hurt like this. The pain in his leg radiated throughout his body like a bolt of lightning and he could not move. He dropped back, falling down. A large ork loomed above him.

Suddenly, a long arrow skewered the beast through the neck. Kili turned around to see where it came from and he just could not believe his eyes.  There she was…Tauriel, bow drawn, an intense expression on her face. It was the expression of control and skill and might he had seen before. Kili was surprised, but could not be terribly upset that she was making a habit of this; Tauriel had saved him again.

The throbbing in his leg reminded his of his mission and he scampered up, painfully, leg heavy like stone. He stretched up and used the rest of his strength to jump up and pull the lever. He forced it down and fell back on the bridge, panting with the effort. He had to get out of there; he looked over the edge…his brother was below him, holding on to his barrel.

“Kili!” Fili said, fighting against the roaring waters.

Kili jumped down, but at the last second, he remembered the shaft in his leg. Too late…as he entered the barrel, it yanked out violently, tearing through flesh and jamming into bone, and the jolt of pain nearly made him loose consciousness. He screamed out…

* * *

The pair of lethal elves cascaded down the mountain, keeping up with the barrels in the water and the onslaught of orks. Legolas and Tauriel ran ahead and slay any ork in their path, shooting their bows with toxic accuracy while on land, while jumping through the air. The dwarves, though stuck in their barrels, fought mightily as well, drowning orks, stealing their weapons, bowling them over with runaway barrels hopping on land, fighting valiantly all the while bobbling through whitewater, trying not to drown.

Legolas was swift and accurate with his kills, whether jumping over hills or hopping on dwarf heads. They did not seem very happy about that but, well, he did not want to get wet. Legolas went up on a rise, and was delayed for a minute, engaging a rather large ork, which took a little more effort. The moment he felled it with a death blow, he heard a groan and a thud behind him. Legolas turned around to find another large ork behind him, a large hatchet buried in his chest…He looked to the river; Thorin was staring at him, his barrel moving him fast away through the waters. He looked back at the ork who nearly took his life.

The hatchet, Legolas realized, was the same that was in Thorin’s hands not moments before. Legolas looked back to the river; they were gone. His brows knit. Thorin had saved his life. He grunted. At any time during their capture, never did he turn deadly attention to the dwarves. As much as he threatened them with violence, he realized, the dwarves and elves did not really want to kill each other. There the relationship was a quiet aggression and quarrel rather than their shared and vehement hatred of evil creatures that only deserved death. He realized then how easy it was for them to ally against a common foe.

He heard an arrow ricochet through the air; Tauriel entered on the scene with a vengeance, taking out several orks before her in a single breath. The rest of the Orks continued along the river bank, save one who’s throat was about to be slit by Tauriel’s sharp blade…

“ _Wait, Tauriel…this one we keep alive_ …” he said, in elvish. Tauriel practically hissed…

Despite the fact that Tauriel wanted to chase down and kill every black blooded vile beast now crawling through their kingdom in search of the escaped dwarves, Legolas made her stop and return to Mirkwood castle with one of the beasts in tow.

Back in the King’s throne room, Legolas had the Ork beast firmly in his grasp, knife pressed up against his neck yet the wretched, disgusting thing still writhed. All Tauriel could think of was wanting to see the ork in pain, beheaded, disemboweled…She could not stand the fact that its oozing skin was touching her Prince. She paced back and forth, the bitter bile threatening to crawl into her throat. Part of her was also worried about Kili…

Legolas was controlled yet fierce and held the beast tightly. Tauriel paced impatiently on the other side of the room, at the ready. Thranduil walked around them, forever in control, stoic, unemotional, frigid towards their newest prisoner. Thranduil knew very well, if Tauriel had her hands on the ork, she would have killed it already.

“In the vast ignorance of the world it festers and spreads, a shadow that grows in the dark; a sleepless malice as black as the oncoming wall of night…” Thranduil spoke solemnly, as the younger elves listened. His words, ever carefully chosen, always echoed with meaning greater than the present, as if they too were as old and as wise as he. “So it ever was, so will it always be…in time all foul things come forth.” He said, standing some distance behind the captive ork.

“You were tracking a company of 13 dwarves…Why?” Legolas asked the ork, having had just about enough of his father’s ministrations. He spoke to it with way too much respect, Tauriel thought.

“Not thirteen…not anymore. “ It said, as it focused its beady eyes on Tauriel, who turned around to face it, concern flitting across her face, revealing way too much. “The young one…the black haired archer…we struck him with a Morgul shaft. The poison is in his blood…he should be choking on it soon.” the Ork snorted and cackled, staring right at Tauriel. She put a mask of anger on her face; but within, her heart felt as if it was seizing.

“Answer the question, filth.” Tauriel ordered, at the edge of control.

“ _I do not answer to dogs, she-elf!_ ” It spat in its vile tongue, bucking and pushing against Legolas, threatening to break free of his grasp. Legolas dug in the blade and held it down on its knees.

“I would not antagonize her.” Legolas suggested, patronizingly.

“You like killing things, ork…” Tauriel snarled, provoking a growl from the retch, and Tauriel drew her blade. “You like death…”She was approaching it with knife unsheathed. “Then let me give it to you!” she rushed at the beast…

“ _Enough_!” Thranduil shouted. Tauriel froze, just in time, her face close to the vile creature. “ _Tauriel, Leave_.” he ordered. She glared at the ork, teeth bared, shaking. “ _Go now_.” Thranduil said insistently.

Thranduil looked at her with warning; he knew how little control she had in this situation, with Orks. The ork growled loudly at her.

It took all her power of restraint to not stab the cur in the chest. Legolas looked at her with a concerned glare as she stood up. She glanced hard at Thranduil as her face returned to the stony face of control, the face of the captain of the elven guard. She left the throne room rapidly.

“I do not care about one dead dwarf. Answer the question. You have nothing to fear…” she heard Thranduil continue to speak, his voice growing fainter the further she went.

Tauriel tried to put Thranduil’s rebuke, and the memory of the vile ork out of her mind. But when she closed her eyes, all she could see was the warm, dark eyes of a young, dark haired archer. Unlike her king, Tauriel did care about one dwarf…Kili. And she did not want him dead.

Tauriel knew what she had done wrong. She had shown weakness to a prisoner during questioning. Thranduil had been looking at her, into her face, and had seen the moment of concern and outrage, as had the Ork. From that moment on, she was no longer useful during the interrogation, she was too heavily invested, and that Thranduil realized, long before she did.

She breathed heavily, staring about, throughout the shadowy realm, the living caverns of the Woodland Fortress. Thranduil’s voice echoed all over as he continued the interrogation, as did his heavy presence, in this, his world, which he controlled skillfully, exclusively and emphatically. This was her home, her comfort and strength, but it was presently feeling more like a prison. From his soliloquy, she knew Thranduil felt the evil too. He knew it, yet would do nothing about it save to hide and lock his people behind closed doors, be on the defense while the forest around fell into ruin, and evil took hold of their land. This fact, above all, frustrated her to no end. She walked over two more of the long, thin walkways, and then paused for a minute and looked down to the dungeons, where the dwarves were but hours ago.

Tauriel knew full well what being hit by a Morgul shaft meant for any but an elf: an excruciatingly painful, slow death. She didn’t want to let that happen to Kili. She had to try to save him, but how? Before she knew it, she went to her quarters, grabbed her bow and her knives. She headed for the large front gateway, renewed fire in her chest, intensified worry in her mind.

This, for her, was a moment of truth. Tauriel knew there was no turning back.

* * *

 

The cries of the orks being left behind still echoed in the dwarfs’ ears as the river’s brisk whitewater finally gave way to a lazy, wide entry to the great lake before them. They were all there, all 14; it was a miracle they survived.

“Do you see anything behind us?” Thorin asked.

“Not that I can see.”

“I think we’ve outrun the orks” answered one of the brothers.

“Not for long…” Thorin warned.

Kili’s head was pounding about as much as his leg was aching. He paddled his way closer to shore and was thrown forward on land. He crawled out of the barrel, unceremoniously dumping himself on the rocky shore and for a minute or so, he clung to the ground, and the stability it represented. He rolled over and looked around for Fili. His brother was helping one of the other dwarves out of their temporary round boat. He breathed some relief. At least his brother was unhurt. He pulled himself up and started to walk across the rocks when his leg punished him for his attempt. He groaned and fell down.

Only then did he look at his leg. The gaping wound was deep, bleeding, blackened at the edges. And it hurt, badly. He tried to clean it with a strip of cloth, but still it oozed. He grimaced and pressed it. Bofur looked at him with concern…

“I’m fine, it’s nothing…” Kili said, gritting his teeth. Fili appeared before him, holding his shoulder.

“On your feet…” Thorin ordered, walking around like a beast in a cage…

“Kili’s wounded. His leg needs binding…” Bofur said.

“There is an ork pack on our tail. We keep moving…”

“To where?”

“To the mountain.” said Bilbo, looking off to where the lonely mountain stood like a beacon. “We are so close…” Thorin, Bilbo and some of the other dwarves continued arguing about where and how to go. It seemed that their situation had not improved much…The brothers Durin conversed in hushed tones.

“Good gods, man. When did you get this?” Fili whispered to Kili, looking at the awful wound.

“On the river gate.” Kili groaned. “It’s not that bad…” Kili said again. Despite his denial, Kili was fast realizing his wound was not ‘nothing’. Kili leaned forward, his whole body hurting, and that confused him. Why should a wound on his leg make him feel this way?

Fili looked into his brother’s eyes; Kili tried to look away, but Fili saw the pain on his face. Fili’s brows knit and he started to rip a long strip from the edge of his waterlogged tunic. Bofur, who was watching, started to do the same. They worked quickly on the young dwarf. Thorin glanced at them, realizing the seriousness.

“Bind his leg quickly.” Thorin said. “You have two minutes.” Fili had already started wrapping his brother’s leg, not intending to move just yet. He needed to care for his brother.

Just then, Kili noticed a tall man with a bow on a high rock. He was looking down and when Dwalin picked up a stick for defense, the man shot it. Despite his injury, with his fast instincts, Kili quickly grabbed a stone and aimed it at the man. The man had faster reflexes. He shot the stone out of Kili’s hand and had another arrow at the ready within a second. Being an archer himself, Kili was begrudgingly impressed…

“Do that again and you’re dead.” The tall man warned. They all stood still, in shock. Kili looked at the tall man’s quiver and automatically began counting arrows…there were not enough to take them all on, but with his exquisite aim, he would inflict significant damage before he ran out _._ His skills were similar to the wood elves.

Balin, ever the statesman, looked behind the man and saw opportunity.

“Excuse me. But…you’re from Laketown, if I’m not mistaken…” he started. The lethal bow and arrow turned to him. Balin put his arms up. “That barge over there…that wouldn’t be for hire would it, by any chance?” Balin continued.

Balin’s calm words had the intended consequence. Bard the bowman, owner of the barge, lowered his weapon, looking at Balin with raised brow. The tension in the air began to dissipate. Balin, being one of the oldest, and most experienced of the group, was an excellent judge of character.

Balin analyzed the man, walking towards him slowly, taking note of the work-worn long coat, roughened boots, and shabby clothes that looked out of place on a man with a neat, grey-streaked beard and long hair with aristocratic features. The way he wielded his bow; this man was no simple hunter or boatman. And the man had a serious, intelligent, and honest face. Balin knew a good man when he saw one. He felt he had to make an attempt to avoid violence, before one of the other dwarves did something stupid.

Balin decided it was best to try his most effective weapon …diplomacy.

* * *

 

Tauriel walked through the forest she knew well, following the river as it led out to the lake, her senses on alert, but her mind elsewhere. Her heart was heavy as she walked along, beyond the dead bodies of slain orks, past where they had last seen the dwarves as they disappeared down the stream. Behind her was all she knew, everyone she ever worshiped, followed and cared for. She arrived on the rocky outcropping on the bank of the river. She walked past blood spilt on the rock, looking out over the murmuring waters. No dwarves or barrels were in sight. She stood up straight, sensing it before hearing it...

She whipped around, bow and arrow pulled taught. At the base of the rock, it was Legolas, with bow drawn, looking quite miffed…

“If I were an ork, you would be dead, Tauriel." He warned. Both archers lowered their bows. Tauriel smirked.

“You were far too quiet to be an ork.” She said, turning around, walking further on the rock, looking across the lake, the distant lonely mountain rising up in the blue sky…

“You cannot hunt 30 orks on your own.” Legolas said, still angry, yet calming down. He always calmed down in her presence; unless they were killing something, of course.

“But I am not on my own.” She said, looking back at him with a knowing grin.

“You knew I would come.” Legolas said, with a warm smile. He approached her as she glanced into the distance, across the lake. He sighed. “The king is angry, Tauriel. For 600 years my father has protected you, favored you. You defied his orders, betrayed his trust…” She turned around and looked at him with a serious expression. He changed over to their eloquent, beautiful, elvish tongue “ _Come back with me…he will forgive you_.”

“ _But I will not. If I go back, I will not forgive myself_.“ She answered, in the same manner. “The king has never let ork filth from our lands, yet he would let this ork pack cross our borders, and kill our prisoners…”

“It is not our fight.” Legolas insisted.

“It is our fight.” She countered. “It will not end here…with every victory, this evil will grow. If your father has his way, we will do nothing. We will hide within our walls, live our lives away from the light and let darkness descend. Are we not part of this world? Tell me, _Melon nin_ , when did we let evil become stronger than us?” She asked.

Legolas looked at her intensely. All that she said was true, and her sentiments echoed with the same warning that the ork gave in the throne room, moments before his father chopped off its head. A great evil was growing stronger, and darker, threatening all in middle earth; the wood elves would not be safe forever, even in their woodland fortress. This fight against evil was bigger than these borders, and he did not become a warrior of his caliber to just stand to the side and watch the world burn. He looked towards the lake. Within his heart, Legolas knew she was right.

“I feel it too, Tauriel. We cannot allow that to happen.” He said softly. “What will you to do?” he asked. She sighed, and looked his way.

“I intend to find these dwarves…and help them in their quest.”

“Why?” he said, curiosity outweighing his disbelief.

“For too long has the treasure of the Lonely Mountain lain fallow underneath the slumber of a dragon, Legolas. Erebor, Dale, once vibrant and peaceful, rich and powerful, was destroyed, and the entire valley is suffering in poverty from the lack of those riches and the trade it spread throughout the land.” She said, walking about on the uneven rock.

“What does that have to do with fighting this evil we speak of?” he said.

“If Thorin is successful, and does reclaim his kingdom, he will reunite the dwarves. It would behoove the wood elves to ally with them, to fight this oncoming storm of evil together.” She said. “Man, elf and dwarf must stand together as one, if we intend to keep our land our own.” Legolas crossed his arms.

“I see. You would on one hand deserter be, and on the other, the emissary be.” He paced around.

“I will always be faithful to my King and his son, even if I do not agree with my Lord.” she said, looking at him, pointedly. Legolas smiled.

“How do we know if they are concerned at all about this growing evil?”

“The threat will become difficult for any to ignore, the more the Orks plunder through everyone’s land.”

“I do not think they are aimless. They hunt for the head of Thorin. They do not want him to become king under the mountain yet again.” He said, recalling what the now dead ork said.

“Even more reason for us to join with the dwarves.” She said. She walked up to the pier. “The barge is gone; as are the barrels. No doubt with our prisoners as well.” She pursed her lips, looking over the lake. Legolas walked up to her slowly.

“Unless you plan on swimming to Laketown, the only way there is over land.” He said, a little smile on his lips. “And the trip will take an inordinate length of time without a mount.” She looked back at him. He whistled loudly. Tauriel smiled and crossed her arms. At least someone came prepared.

A large white horse appeared in response to the call, strolling up to Legolas, who greeted his steed warmly, whispering gentle elvish words to calm him. Tauriel stroked the fine neck of the horse, and looked sadly towards Legolas.

“ _Legolas…I know that if I choose this path, I will have to pay for my actions. But ultimately, I only have to answer to myself. Yet the ties that bind you are powerful and deep._ ” She said in elvish, acknowledging his position. He looked back at her.

“ _I admire, love, and respect him Tauriel, but I am not my father_.” Legolas said. The slight longing in his pale blue eyes made her heart twist painfully in her chest. “I must answer to my own set of principles as well.”

“You do not have to come with me.” She said, wanting to make sure he understood. It was not only the principles she spoke of that bid her follow the dwarves to Laketown. There was her growing worry about the fate of a young archer… In one swift move, Legolas mounted the horse.  

“What? And miss the chance to hunt down those stupid, hideous creatures?” He quipped, with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk. “Never. And we also get the chance to kill more orks!” Tauriel crossed her arms, and looked at him with a smirk. She so disagreed with his assessment of the dwarves.

“Legolas…” she groaned. _If he only knew something of my other reasons…_ she thought, warily. She shook her head and sighed, then grabbed his outstretched hand, mounting behind Legolas on the large horse. She held on to his slim hips, and they took off in a fast gallop, headed to the road around the lake leading to Laketown.

 

 


	4. A Bowman's Risk

Kili tried to hide his shivers as he looked on; they were soundlessly riding over the lake, a misty, damp, cold body of water. There were blocks of ice in the water that scraped along the sides of the boat as they ambled along. The heaviness that was cast over the lake translated onto a distinct foreboding on the boat. Thorin stood on the side of the barge, looking out with a stoic expression through the thick fog. The closer they got to the mountain, the more ill-tempered and single-minded his uncle seemed to become. The bargeman stood at the rear of the barge, moving his ruder side to side. It was a slow ride through these frigid waters. Kili stared at the water, the coldness sinking into his bones.

“Watch out!” Bofur said, as a colossus of stone appeared like a giant before them.

The bargeman expertly maneuvered the boat to one side, then the other, not in the least bit disturbed by the pillars of stone within the water. They were in the midst of what appeared to be a sunken, old stone city, the stone columns like ghosts out of a nightmare. The boat swung around the large obstacles with ease, he moving the rudder degree by degree from memory, it seemed.   Kili was certain this man had done this many times before. His face was unchanged by the formidable dangers in the water, yet he was observing his living cargo with guarded curiosity.

“What are you trying to do, drown us?” Thorin said, accusingly.

“I was born and bred in these waters, Master Dwarf. If I wanted to drown you, I would not do it here.” he replied. Kili looked over at Dwalin and the rest, who were none too pleased with his last statement. Kili knit his brows. Why were they acting this way? The dwarves were completely beholden to him, yet the other dwarves continued to grumble about the bargeman.

“I have had enough with this lippy Lakeman. I say we throw him over the side and be done with him.” Dwalin grumbled.  

“No, no, no. Bard, his name is Bard.” Bilbo said, a little irritated, to the ungrateful bunch.

“How do you know?” Dwalin asked.

“Uh…I asked him.” Bilbo replied.   Sometimes the simplest way is the best, Kili thought; you did not need to be a clever hobbit to know that.

“I don’t care what he calls himself, I don’t like him.” Thorin muttered.

“You don’t have to like him, we simply have to pay him. Come on now lads, turn out your pockets…” Balin said, trying to distract the rest.

“How do we know he won’t betray us.” Thorin mused.

“We don’t.” Dwalin answered.

“We have only one problem.” Balin said. “We are 10 coins short. “ Thorin walked over to the company.

“Come on Gloin.” He said, to the red headed dwarf.

“Why are you looking at me? What have I gotten for my investment?” he started, complaining.

The rest of the company was no longer listening. One by one they stood, looking out over the side of the boat as if a siren now held their attention, so rapt they were in their vision. There, barely visible through the haze, was the unmistakable silhouette of the Lonely Mountain, the location of Erebor…Gloin handed his purse to Balin.

“Take it. Take all of it.” He said his voice escaping him.

_________________________

Bard wondered to himself if it had been a good idea to agree to this, as he gazed over the grumbling bunch of dwarves. He was grossly outnumbered, and he knew very well more than one of these dwarves would be quite a match for him. All would overpower him easily. There were some that seemed reasonable, though, especially the grey one, and the Hobbit, so young looking, yet so old in his ways... he could not figure out why he was in their company. Bard did need the money they would pay him. The gold would go far to take care of his family.

But there was something else that made him help them. He could not leave the lot of them stranded, defenseless, to get obliterated by a gang of orks, who he heard was hunting them down. He hated orks more than he hated anything else. His conscience would not let him abandon these strangers. He sighed, knowing his conscience was a major source of trouble for him.

Bard was likeable, fair, and just, and in a town filed with human refuse, he had become the people’s unwilling defender. He just could not keep his mouth closed around Laketown. He constantly stood up against Alfrid and the Master because of their persistent corruption. But that made him a target of the Master’s suspicion, and wrath. He could not stand to see what they did to the good people of the town.

It could be his nature to lead, born from his family background, which he carried like a heavy weight. He was a direct descendant of the line of honorable men who had once governed Dale. Some said, they were also responsible for its destruction because they were unable to slay the dragon. So many lives were lost that day in Dale that the pain echoed through the centuries to the present. His family then settled here in Laketown, yet were not treated very kindly; they were outsiders.

Bard had to admit, though, he did get an inordinate amount of satisfaction when some of the more irritable dwarves were covered in fish at the fishing pier. He had to stifle a smile as he moved along.

“We are nearing the tall gate.” Bard warned, to his living cargo.

Bard greeted the gateman and exchanged papers, as was customary. All was going well, as planned, and then the slithering snake reared his ugly head…Alfrid. The black-capped, ugly creature came out of the shadows. Bard was gripped with dread.

“Not…so…fast…” Alfrid said. Bard had to resist the urge to spit at the man. The greedy slime oozed from his pores. “Consignment of empty barrels…from the woodland realm.” He continued.   “Only, they are not empty, are they Bard?” he said, walking onto his deck.

Bard made a note to himself to scrub that part of the deck.

”If I recall correctly, you are licensed as a bargeman…not a fisherman...” Alfrid continued.

Alfrid ordered his goons dressed in official clothes to start dumping the barrels over the side. Bard took a deep breath and used every warning and threat he could think of to stop Alfrid from pouring out the fish, and the dwarves; even though frankly, he would not mind a few of them getting dunked overboard…

“Oh, it is not your problem, is it? The people are starving in this town. When the people start rioting because they hear that the master is dumping fish back in the lake, will it be your problem then, Alfrid?” Bard warned, looking at the grimy, slithering goof before him _._

“Stop!” Alfrid yelled. He glared at Bard,  “Ever the people’s champion, ey Bard? Protector of the common folk? You might be in their favor now Bard, but it won’t last.” He said, and took his leave, continuing to spout rubbish. “Remember…we know where you live…” he warned.

“It is a small town Alfrid. Everyone knows where everyone lives…” Bard warned back. _Self-indulgent bastard_ , he thought.

The gate rose up and Bard moved on as quickly as the slow moving barge would go. His cargo made him strain as he moved the rudder back and forth. Dwarves and fish were heavy…Bard breathed a sigh of relief once past the gate. These dwarves were becoming more trouble than they were worth…

____________________________________________

_I swear I will never, ever eat fish again…_

Kili tried his best not to squirm as one of the fish dumped over his head slid down his back, tickling as much as it felt very, very, revolting. He closed his eyes tight and spat out some of the slimy, fishy mucus that managed to find its way into his mouth. He was a bit hungry before; but not anymore. A constant queasiness had settled in his gut. He batted away a fishtail that was threatening to poke out his eye. He had to struggle not to breathe too deeply, lest the fish slide down and stop his chest from moving. The sharp ends of the fins were digging into his skin.

_I hope that bargeman is getting a good hard laugh now. I don’t believe we actually paid him to get covered in fish…disgusting. First Bilbo made us get into barrels, then this man from Laketown canning us like sardines… Just because we are dwarves does not mean we like to be in barrels…with not even a bit of wine…_

_Well, at least the bargeman agreed to help us so we have a chance at reaching the Lonely Mountain before the end of Durin’s day. But this is not at all funny._  

Kili sucked a breath through his teeth as the pain in his now bent leg went from a throb to a stab. He felt the pain deep in his body, a strange pain that gnawed away at his insides and pounded on his head.   He tried to straighten his leg a little, and the fish slid about. He could not wait for this part of their journey to end. Kili panted a bit and let out a stifled groan. He could not help it.

“Kili…you alright?” he heard the muffled voice of his brother. Fili was in the barrel next to him; his voice was tinged with worry.

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Everyone quiet! ” The voice of Bard rose above them. Kili grit his teeth.

Kili held his breath as much as he could as he heard Bard arguing with an official. After a few tense words, and some spilled fish, he felt the boat continue on in their journey. After some more agonizing minutes that felt like hours, the boat jolted. Kili heard Bard kick over a barrel, and he heard someone cough and groan on the deck.

“Come on, out, all of you…” Kili heard Bard say. Kili needed no more urging. He shot up from the barrel and coughed up the rest of the fishy mucus, groaning and choking, the smelly, so-called fresh fish spilling out around him, all over the deck.

“Keep your hands off of me…” He heard Dwalin say. Kili looked over to see Dwalin glare at Bard, who held his hands up, turning over the next barrel to help another. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to Fili, who’s hair was matted against his head. If times were different, Kili would have laughed out loud.

“So this what a dwarf pickled in fish brine looks like.” Fili said, trying to engage his brother. Fili helped Kili from the barrel, noting his grimaces. “You look like hell.” Fili said, half serious. Kili tried to hide his grimaces behind a smile.

“You look like a drowned rat. But at least now you smell better…” he groaned. Fili smiled weakly. Kili looked over at Dwalin. “It would not hurt him to be civil. He doesn’t need to be like that. If Bard abandons us here, then we will really be in a pickle.” He whispered to Fili.

“Kili, you know Dwalin. He lives to fight. Please, just worry about yourself for now…”

After they were all out of barrels, they followed Bard along the wharves and wooden planked causeways that made up Laketown. Kili quickly glanced at the ratty, decaying buildings, the paint peeling, and the people and refuse comingling together on the causeways. This was nothing like the sparking, busting oasis that was Esgaroth, the merchant town he had heard of in tales of old. But those were tales of the land as it was before Smaug…

Kili heard Bard bribe the man on the pier to say nothing about his interesting cargo. Kili looked around as they passed people and their wares; already they were drawing stares. It was doubtful that they would remain a secret for very long. He pursed his lips and walked as rapidly as his aching leg would let him…just as he was about to falter, his brother was by his side, wordlessly taking his arm over his shoulder. Fili’s hazel eyes rose to his, his concern obvious. Big brother was always watching out for him. Usually annoying for Kili, this time, his brother’s doting concern was welcome assistance.

* * *

 

Bard looked around warily. It was exceedingly hard to smuggle 14 men, all obviously shorter and some brawnier than anyone in Laketown. He ran into his son, Bain, who was rushing to meet him, having seen his boat nearing the dock.

“Father! Our house is being watched.” Bain said urgently. Bard groaned and turned to Balin. At least this one would not try to bite him, with what he had to have them do now. The big bald one he was sure would try to kill him for this…

Bard and Bain walked the rest of the way back to their home, in a slightly circuitous route just so the 14 little heads bobbing in the water on the way to his house would not be noticed. He smiled a little bitterly.

_As if I can’t see all the spies they have put to watch me. Don’t they have anything else better to do? What an incredible waste. If he was a better leader, maybe the Powers that be in this town would not be so concerned about me. He and his goon were the worst things to happen to Laketown. The Master could spend his time on more important things than trying to watch my every move and land me in trouble every chance he gets. I wish he would just drink himself to death already._

_Well, at least they are so stupid Alfrid and the spies are easy to spot._

Bard continued to the entry of his home, turning for a moment to throw an apple to the closest so-called spy.

“Tell the master I am done for the day!” he quipped, slamming his door shut. He greeted his girls as he entered. His oldest girl, Sigrid, hugged him, a relieved look coming over her face, a face already bearing the heavy weight of a family on her young shoulders. He had nothing but pride for her. Sigrid helped to raise the family since after her mother passed during childbirth.

His youngest, Tilda, threw her arms around him, the fear of a loss of another parent too often on her innocent mind. Sadness seemed to follow them and their kin, ever since Dale. He hugged them briefly…

“Bain, let them in…”he said urgently, he and Bain going to the windows and closing them over with the curtains. Bain nodded and ran downstairs. He knocked on the wall 3 times.

Dwalin’s head rose out of the toilet with the look of contentious rage.

“If you mention this to anyone…” he said. He refused the young boy’s assistance. The next one, the hobbit, was much more receptive to his aid.

“Da…why are there dwarves coming out of our toilet?” Sigrid asked, looking down on all of them.

One by one, soaking wet, grumbling hulking short men came from the downstairs to the upstairs. Sigrid leaned forward to help one who looked in pain, pale and weak. He nodded to her with a weak smile, and he was immediately taken up by another young dwarf, this one blonde, who also nodded at her, taking hold of the arm of the sick one, helping him up the stairs.

She looked on in shock. Upstairs, their little home was now much smaller, with so much company all of a sudden.

“Will they bring us luck?” Bard’s youngest, Tilda, asked with a childlike sweetness. One of the dwarves must have growled at her, because she ran off with a little yelp; into the arms of a short man with pointed ears, about her size. She looked at Bilbo with curiosity.

“I am not so sure about that, little girl.” Bilbo said, in a low voice that surprised her, steadying the young girl.

“Are you a boy dwarf?” she asked. “You have no beard...and you have funny feet.” She said, wrinkling her nose a little. Bilbo pursed his lips.

“No, absolutely not! I am very much a full grown hobbit.” He said, a little put out at the suggestion he was a dwarf. Tilda looked a little disappointed.  

“You are the first hobbit she has ever seen.” Bain informed Bilbo.

“Oh. I see.” Bilbo said, with an awkward smile to Tilda. “Well, hello. I am Bilbo Baggins…”

A few minutes later, the children were handing out cups of steaming tea to anyone who would take it. Bard walked around, doling out dry clothes to all who would accept it.

“It is not a great fit but at least it is dry.” He said. Some dwarves took the clothing graciously, some with an attitude. He glanced for a second at the young, dark haired one; he was looking quite ill…which was odd.

From what Bard knew about elves and dwarves, they did not succumb to the illnesses like man did. They did not catch colds, or develop tumors or have weak lungs or hearts, their joints did not stiffen with age, and when they did get injured, they healed quickly and completely. Therefore they lived very long lives; dwarves for hundreds, elves for thousands of years. But they did not have the joy of children as often as man did, more so elf than dwarf. He saw the young dwarf grab and hold its leg after sitting down, and he winced in pain. Ah, so injury it was.

He turned around and looked at Thorin, the obvious leader, who was a dark, brooding sort. Even completely soaking wet, this regal appearing dwarf continued to have the bearing of one burdened with responsibility and a haunted, indomitable look. He seemed tainted by bitterness, however. Full of distrust and deceit also, Bard knew.

On the dock back in the woodlands, the grey haired one, Balin was trying to have a pleasant discussion with him, trying to convince him they were just simple merchants. Bard knew the look of warriors; and most of the dwarves had that look. Thorin had broken in and revealed their true intent. They needed passage, and weapons. Bard did like his directness, but that was about all he liked of his attitude. But there was something else about this dwarf… He turned to Sigrid.

“Make something warm for them to eat, whatever you can make a lot of.” Bard said in gentle whispers, once he took a disbelieving Sigrid to the kitchen area.

“We don’t have a lot of anything, Da.” Sigrid said, worried… Bard handed her a satchel filled with fish.

“Do the best you can, love.” He said, putting his hand gently on his daughter’s shoulder. She pursed her lips and nodded.

Sigrid worked to make a fish broth as fast as she could. Sigrid shared out the savory, hot broth in bowls and went to each one. The hobbit, the younger dwarves and the old, grey haired one who talked often with her father were the most receptive, and polite. The young, dark haired one looked even more ill when he smelled the soup, and he refused it.

“No thank you.” he said. The blonde one sitting next to him smiled at her, took the bowl and thanked her politely.

“Come on Kili, you need this to heal.” he said, turning to the dark haired dwarf, trying to convince him to eat. “Please, brother…”

“I just can’t right now, Fili.” Kili said, hanging his head. Already his insides felt like a churning, burning mass. Fili patted his back with concern.

“I can bring more later.” Sigrid smiled meekly at the two brother dwarves and moved on.

The other dwarves were not so gracious. They only verified what Sigrid had been told of dwarves: that they were a loud, rude, crotchety bunch.

* * *

On the road to Laketown, Legolas and Tauriel took a break to allow their horse rest, get fresh water and some grass to eat. The night was falling fast, so they took refuge under some trees, a fire lit to keep them company.   Tauriel lay back against a rock and stared into the night sky. Legolas sat down to one side of the fire, facing her. She looked back at him.

“We have not seen any sign of orks along the way. Might they have given up following the dwarves and returned to their retched holes?” She asked, Legolas looked up.

“I doubt that. From what the captured ork said, they will stop at nothing until they have Thorin’s head.” He said, looking around. “No…I think they are crawling through the forest, following the edge of the lake. They are determined, but not very smart.” He laughed. Tauriel nodded and looked at the embers as they rose up into the night.

“ _What will your father think, once you have not returned today?_ ” She asked, softly, in their tender, elvish Sindarian.

“ _With you also gone, he will know full well that we are together_.” He said, his eyes searching her face. “ _At least he will be assured that we will be safe, with each other_.”

“ _He will be displeased with you.”_ She said, knowing his father’s wishes, more than he. “ _And for that I am sorry_.” She pursed her lips.

“ _He will forgive me my disobedience, eventually. I am his blood._ ” Legolas said, looking around. “ _And I came of my own free will, Tauriel._ ” Tauriel stared at him.

“ _Do you think he could forgive you if …_ ” she began asking, her mind wondering back to earlier that day. The she stopped short. Legolas tilted his head to the side, looking at her with curiosity. A gentle smile played on his thin lips, his blue eyes soft.

“ _Forgive me if …what, Tauriel_?” he asked, innocently. Tauriel sighed, buried in her thoughts. She did care so much about Legolas…But in his handsome face, all she could see was the echoes of his father’s looks, the piercing, grey eyes…

_No, there is no way I ever could, ever would ask Legolas to disobey his father for me. I love them both too much…_

“Nothing, never mind.” She said, looking at him with curiosity. “So, why did you really come?” Legolas pursed his lips, and draped his hands over his knees.

“You know me too well.” He replied, a little smirk on his face. “I want to see what Thorin Oakensheild intends to do, how he intends to take care of that giant monster pestilence in the halls of Erebor. And find out more about what the Orks are up to. And why they are after him.” He looked down at the ground, and sighed. “Father killed the fiend before I could finish my inquisition.”   He said.

“Why?” she asked. She would have happily done it for him…

“He said he had heard enough; and that is when he gave the order to seal the gates.” Legolas replied. She nodded and thought of something else, more important.

“Now, how do you suppose we would find the dwarves, once we get into Laketown?” She asked. “They could be anywhere. It would not do to have elves wandering about, asking questions in that man-town.” Legolas sat back, rubbed his chin and knit his brows.

“The orks have followed the dwarves from far; maybe orks can track them, by their scent, like beasts.” He said, sitting up. “We will undoubtedly arrive before them. We lay low and just follow the orks as they converge upon the location of the dwarves. Then we can attack.” Tauriel smirked.

“Dwarves do not smell that badly…” Tauriel said. Legolas smirked.

“Yes they do, especially when they get old and hairy…” he chided then leaned back. “And why are you always defending them?” Tauriel looked at him harshly.

“Because I like to judge people on my own.” She said, leaving it at that.

“They betrayed our people in the past, Tauriel.” He said, ardently. “There were those in that company who hate you without much thought, and would kill you simply because you are an elf.”

“And there are those who do not.” She replied, leaning forward a little. “I thought you said you were not your father, Legolas…” Legolas looked back at her with a hard stare.

“I am here, with you now, on the way to Laketown, am I not?” He countered, a little angrily. She sat up.

“And for that I thank you, _mellon nin_ (my friend).” Tauriel said, wanting him to know how much it meant to her. She did not want to upset him. He looked away from her, out into the field, where the horse was standing. She turned her attention back up to the stars, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Tauriel looked back at Legolas a few moments later. His eyes were back on her for some time, she suspected. She smiled gently.

“These stars are what I miss when we are closed up in the fortress.” She said. He looked up.

“I know. When the night is still and the sky clear,” He replied, looking back down at her, “It is easy to see such beauty in the starlight.” He said pointedly, his voice softened. She saw the light of the fire sparkle in his eyes, the warm glow on his high cheeks, and felt the ache in her chest, yet again. She looked away from him, and did not reply.

“You should try to rest, Tauriel. I will take the first watch.” He said eventually.

“Yes, that does sound good.” Tauriel nodded, looking back at him. “Only if you promise to rest for an equal time this night.” He smiled and nodded, standing up to check the area. She lay back down on the ground, placing her weapons by her side. She crossed her arms and stared up into to the night, drifting into the open eyed elvish restful meditation state of renewal. Yet her mind was mired in conflict…

_Why am I doing this? … I must not return anything Legolas says; regardless of how I feel. So why am I letting him come with me to Laketown, for I have reasons I don’t yet understand myself._

_What is it about that young dwarf that keeps him on my mind?   Whatever it is, I am sure I will find my answers, and …it will wane, I am sure it will, once I get there and help him…or find him dead already…_

With that thought in her mind, her body shuddered and she caught her breath. She was shocked at how upset it made her feel.

_Kili…please don’t be dead yet. Hang on just a little bit longer…_


	5. Laketown Capture

The overcast skies were a pale backdrop to the stark, grey buildings of Laketown. Thorin looked outside of the window, his face falling slack, his eyes widening. “A dwarfish wind lance…” Thorin whispered, as he glared out the window with a haunted, pale expression. Bilbo was walking by him at the moment and stopped to glance his way, wondering what had captured his gaze. He didn’t understand Thorin’s reaction.

“You look as if you just saw a ghost.” Bilbo said, as he walked by, warming his hands.

“That is because he has.“ Balin said. “The last time we saw such a weapon, a city was on fire. It was the day the dragon came. The day that Smaug destroyed Dale. ”

All looked at Balin somberly as he wove the tale; images of a city in flames invaded everyone’s imagination, pictures of all the people burning under an assault so devastating, it was complete… Dale was laid to waste with the ire of Smaug. One could almost picture Girion, the Lord of the city, loading black arrow after black arrow into the wind lance, trying desperately to hit the offending beast, and stop it from desecrating his town, murdering his people. But who could fight such an overwhelming dark force such as a dragon?

“The stores were running low when Girion made his last stand.” Balin finished his tale, sadly.   A solemnity fell over the inhabitants of the little house. Thorin’s face darkened as he eyed the wind lance.

“If the aim of man were true that day, much would have been different.” Thorin said in a low, bitter tone, looking back at Balin. Bard took a few steps toward him.

“You speak as if you were there.” Bard said. In his mind, he was trying to figure out just how old this dwarf was…

“All dwarves know the tale.” Thorin said, with an intense expression. Bain, with youthful indulgence, joined in the discussion.

“Then you would know that Girion hit the dragon, and loosened a scale under the left wing. One more shot, he would have killed the beast!” the boy insisted. Dwalin crossed his arms and shook his head, a smug look on his face.

“That’s a fairy story, lad. Nothing more.” Dwalin said, dismissively. Bain looked crossly at the dwarf and back to his father. Bard was eyeing them with suspicion.

“You took our money. Where are the weapons?” Thorin said, wishing to change the subject of the discussion. Bard looked around. All dwarf eyes were on him.

“Wait here…” he said, disappearing down the stairs.

Thorin motioned for his nephews to join him. Kili stood up and walked up closer to Balin and Thorin. Fili joined them. They talked in hushed tones.

“Tomorrow begins the last days of autumn. “ he said.

“Durin’s day falls morn after next. We must reach the mountain before then.” Balin informed them all.

“And if we do not? If we fail to find the hidden door before that time?” Kili said, desperation showing on his face and in his voice.

“Then this quest has been for nothing…” Fili said, impatience in his voice.   Kili was feeling his strength ebbing, and was worried why his body was hurting so; but he was doing everything he could to hide his discomfort from his uncle.

The Lakeman returned with a long package that he placed on the table. He untied it and unwrapped it. Within it were an assortment of homemade implements, wood tied to iron pieces. The dwarves looked at it incredulously.

“What is this!?” Thorin asked, with a grimace, holding up a long stick with what looked like large fishhooks on the end.

“A Pike hook. Made from an old harpoon.” Bard explained.

“And this?” Kili asked.

“A crowbell, we call it. Fashioned from a smithies hammer. Heavy in hand, I grant, but in defense of your life, it will serve you better than none.”

“We paid you for weapons. Iron forged swords and axes.” Glion puffed out, upset that his money was being spent so wrongly.

“It’s a joke!” Bofur exclaimed. They all threw the weapons back on the table.

“You won’t find better outside of the city armory. All iron forged weapons are held there under lock and key.” Bard informed the disgruntled bunch. Dwalin and Thorin exchanged glances.

“Thorin, why don’t we take what he offers and go. I’ve made do with less. So have you.” Balin said, ever being diplomatic. “I say we leave now.” Everyone else groaned.    

“You are not going anywhere.” Bard warned. Dwalin looked at him with daggers in his eyes.

“What did you say?” Dwalin said, menacingly.

Fili shook his head. _Why was he hedging a fight_?

“There are spies watching this house and probably every dock and wharf in the town. You must wait until nightfall.” Bard said, staring a Dwalin, with as much menace.

 _Maybe I should just let them go and get caught. Good riddance._ Bard thought.

All grumbled and complain under their breath, walking away, disappointed. Bard looked after Thorin and Dwalin who huddled together, but first looked back at him suspiciously. Bard knit his brows and headed out the door for some fresh air and a place to think.

_Thorin…Thorin…what is it about that name that tugs at the strings of my memory?_

Bard looked around, towards the towering silhouette of the lonely mountain. Bain opened the door.

“Da?”

“Don’t let them leave!” Bard said urgently, as he headed down the stairs, a burning question begging to be answered now invading his mind.

* * *

 

Kili grabbed hold of a staff and lowered himself to sitting on the edge of a bench. He was feeling very lightheaded and his leg was throbbing. He rubbed at it, but even the lightest touch made it worse. He looked all around, just to make sure no one would notice. He did find two eyes gazing his way. The older girl, Sigrid, looked at him with concern, and then turned around, busying herself with something in the kitchen. He groaned and winced. He did not care if she saw. Kili pricked his ears up to hear the whispered conversation between his uncle and Dwalin.

“What say you?” Thorin said to Dwalin.

“I say we need to be paying a visit to this armory.” Dwalin whispered back. Thorin looked at him slyly.

“My thoughts exactly.” He quickly motioned for the nearby dwarves to come around. Kili, Fili, Oin and Bofur huddled around. Balin walked over.

“So we are going to the armory?” Kili said in a whisper, excitement in his voice. Everyone shushed him. “How do you know where it is?”

“We don’t.” Balin said, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

Bilbo was walking around, examining things in the house, quite content to wait till nightfall. Bain walked swiftly back into the house, nearly knocking over Bilbo.

“Sorry.” Bilbo said.

“It was my fault.” Bain said graciously. He looked around at the huddling dwarfs nervously, and sat at a bench by the door. Bilbo, ever the curious hobbit, sat across from Bain, a question bothering his mind.

“Um…can I ask a question?” He said, getting Bain’s attention.

“Yes?” Bain said, a little warily. Bilbo looked over to the makeshift weapons on the table.

“Why…was your father…building and hiding these kinds of weapons? And why are there spies looking at your house?” He asked with restrained inquisitiveness. Bain sighed. Some of the dwarves leaned in, listening with interest.

“The master and Alfrid, his assistant, don’t like my father.” He said, blinking his eyes. “That is because my father is always standing up for the other folks; when things go wrong in the town they always seek him out to make their case to the Master. He usually ends up getting what he asks for because he has support from the townsfolk. Some people want him to become the leader in this town.” Bain explained. Sigrid, hearing the conversation, walked over.

“They will never let that happen, Bain. Because Da is a good man and they are scoundrels. The master believes it is his right to rule this place into ruin, and his greedy assistant does all of his dirty work.” She put her hands on her waist, and looked towards Bilbo. “They are making our lives miserable because they want us to leave this town. But father will not just go.” Bain looked over to Sigrid. Bilbo was almost sorry he had asked, yet he was interested in hearing more about Bard. The dwarves were whispering softly between each other.

“But if we get enough support, they will have to hold an election. And then we can change things here and make it right.” Bain said, standing up to his sister.

“How will just a few townspeople armed with slipshod weapons ever change anything, Bain?” Sigrid said. “Even the dwarves won’t use these things.”

“We can’t just sit around and let things keep on going the way they have.” Bain said. “If we are really serious about taking control, when we have enough people, we would have to go together, and get real weapons, at the armory next to the tall gate.”

“That would be dangerous, though wouldn’t it?” Tilda said, worry in her face. Sigrid went over to her and comforted her.

“Don’t worry. Da would not do anything that would leave us in danger. But he will do all he can to make our lives better. Even if it means fighting against the powers that rule this town.” She said, looking up at Bain.

The dwarves that had been in a huddle started to separate and move about.   Balin, being pushed forward by Thorin, went up to the two elder children.

“I can see quite easily that your father is a good man, helping strangers like us and all. And I understand that he does not think it safe for us to leave, but I think we should take our leave now. We have been an inconvenience to you kind people, and we don’t want to bring you any more trouble, and I fear if we stay much longer we may.” He said looking seriously at the boy.

“Please, don’t leave yet…” Bain said, growing in worry. Bard had wanted him to keep them there.  Dwalin groaned.

“Enough with the niceties. Come along already.” Dwalin mumbled, impatiently. Bain stood up, and tried to stop them as they filed out to the staircase downstairs. Dwalin growled at him and glared, pushing Bain gently but firmly aside. The dwarves left one by one.

“Thank you very much.” Fili said, shaking Bain’s hand.

“You were very kind.” Kili said, nodding to Sigrid.

“It was nice meeting you…” Bilbo said to Tilda, who smiled weakly and waved, appearing saddened.

“Get yourselves some better weapons.” Gloin said, before one of the other dwarves hit him on the head and pushed him along down the stairs.

“Keep up your courage, but use it wisely, boy.” Thorin said, as he walked past Bain with an strong expression and nodded his thanks. The others all filed out past him, some thanking them, all quickly.

“I liked the soup…” Bofur said, the last one out, with a wide, goofy smile to Sigrid. They dragged him along.

Within several minutes the youngsters were alone, staring at each other, wondering what had just happened. Sigrid shrugged her shoulders and looked around with a sigh.

“I guess we should start cleaning up from our guests.” She said, looking at the other two. “Dwarves sure are messy creatures…” she said, shaking her head.  The other two children groaned in agreement.

* * *

In a little carpet shop in Laketown, Bard was rummaging through old tapestries. All about him the townsfolk were abuzz about the rumors that dwarves were in their midst. He finally found the one he was looking for. There it was, in faded color on the century old piece of cloth…He was _the_ Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror…the Dwarf King of Erebor.

“It’s the prophesy, the prophesy of Durin’s Folk,” an old man said. Everyone dared to wonder if the prophecy had come to light. Bard turned around. Bard was suddenly gripped with fear in realization. They would come and fulfill the prophecy.

“The lord of silver fountains _…_ The king of carven stone, the king beneath the mountain, shall come into his own…” The words of the prophecy rang in Bard’s head as he raced back to his home.

_‘And the bells shall ring in gladness at the mountain king’s return, but all will fail in sadness, and the lake will shine and burn’…_

_Oh my gods…what did I bring to this town?_

* * *

The company tiptoed over the walkways and piers and bridges that made up Laketown with stealth. In the darkening evening, not many were about, and it took them a short while, in the darkening shadows, to find the armory. Using the other dwarfs as a ladder, they got several dwarves and the hobbit into the armory by breaking in to a second floor window. They looked around downstairs; no one was there.

Kili was now feeling even more weak, and in more pain than ever, but he was resolved to keep it secret. He managed to make it into the window, largely because his brother pushed him up, being the one under the windowsill.

The weapons in the armory were much better than what Bard had offered. Kili walked around as several large swords and axes, and a large staff were loaded into his waiting arms. As his uncle put an ax on top he looked at Kili with concern.

“You alright?” Thorin asked, as Kili struggled a bit with the weapons. Thorin did notice how much paler he seemed to be.

“I can manage.” He said, turning around to head down the stairs. “I just want to get out of here.”

As he started down the stairs, with the extra load, his leg gave out and he fell, the weapons clanking loudly down the steps. They might as well have tripped an alarm. The sounds of guards arriving followed soon after. They were captured. Kili looked up at his uncle, desperation in his face as a knife was put to his throat. Thorin looked at him with something more painful for Kili to see than anger: disappointment.

The guards rounded them up and dragged them off to see the Master.

* * *

Bard arrived at his house breathless. What danger had he left his children with? He busted open the door only to see his house relatively vacant. The children stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

“Da…I tried to stop them!” Bain explained.

“How long have they been gone?” he said urgently, holding his son’s shoulders.

“Not very long.” Bain said, looking downtrodden. Bard groaned and cursed under his breath, turning around. “I’m sorry Da.” Bain said, heartbroken. Bard turned around again and held his son, patting his head.

“I’m sure you did what you could, but I have to find them...” he said. The far off sounds of shouting came from outside. Bard rushed to the stairs outside and looked towards the sounds. The trailing smoke from torches and the loud complaints of captive dwarves being escorted by soldiers broke the relative quiet of the evening. They were heading to the center of town; the Master’s house. Bain walked up behind him.

“I think they found them…” Bain said. Bard looked around at his children, worry wrinkling his face. Sigrid held Tilda close.

“I’ll go find out what is happening.” He said, running down the stairs. Bain followed.

“I’m coming with you.” he said. Bard turned around.

“Bain, stay here, with your sisters.” He insisted. Bain was about to protest when his father gripped his shoulder tightly. Bard spoke in urgent whispers. “Look, I don’t know what the dwarves are going to say, or if they will implicate us, therefore I need you here to protect your sisters. At the slightest sound of trouble, grab the girls and head for the forest.” Bain swallowed hard, his eyes blinking. “Can you do that for me, son?” Bard said.

“Yes Da.” Bain said, shakily. Bard held his head firmly for a moment, nodding, and then he headed to the center of town with some haste.

Bard entered the periphery of the crowd that was now surrounding the group of soldiers, with the dwarves in the middle. He vaguely heard some words exchanged, but by the time he got far enough into the group to hear clearly, Thorin, with all his regal swagger, was walking around, talking to the Master and all who would listen.

“We are the dwarves of Erabor. We have come to reclaim our homeland.” Thorin said. The Master looked out over the dwarves in shock. Bard winced. It was all he had feared. Thorin continued, his voice low, commanding, filled with emotion.

“I remember this town in the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbor, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake. This was the center of all trade in the north.” He said, with such fire that he captured the attention of all around him. Bard looked around, everyone was murmuring hopefully to each other. Bard gritted his teeth.

“I would see those days return. I would relight the great forges of the dwarves, send wealth and riches flowing once more from the halls of Erabor!” Thorin exclaimed, waving his arm over the crowd, inciting all to clap and cry out in agreement. Bard could take it no more.

“Death!” he cried out loudly. Thorin and all others turned to look for him. He pushed his way into the clearing in the center of the crowd. “That is what you would bring upon us!” He said loudly, approaching the regal dwarf. “Dragon fire and ruin.” Bard stood before them all, looking solemnly at Thorin. “If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all.” Thorin looked at Bard with hard, angry eyes. He turned to the crowd.

“You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this. If we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the mountain.” Thorin said, insistently to all around. He raised his arms. “You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!” He shouted loudly, winning almost everyone over. The crowd erupted in cheers. The master smiled, because now the dwarf was talking his language. Riches. But he did not quiet Bard…

“All of you! Listen to me! You must listen! Have you forgotten what happened to Dale?” Bard shouted, desperately trying to work reason into this madness. “Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm? And for what purpose? The blind ambition of a mountain king, so driven by greed, he could not see beyond his own desire!” Bard said, looking at Thorin harshly.

“Now, now, we must not, any of us, be too quick to lay blame,” the Master interjected, because in his mind’s eye, he was seeing his coffers filling with the riches the dwarf had offered. “Let us not forget that it was Girion, lord of Dale, your ancestor, who failed to kill the beast!” he said pointing his skinny finger at Bard. Bard’s expression changed to one of sadness and shame.

“Its true sire, we all know the story, arrow after arrow he shot, each one missing its mark.” Alfrid chimed in, always willing to give a dig.

Thorin looked at Bard with open eyes; Bard was not just a Lakeman, but a descendant of the people of Dale. He and his family were also personally damaged in the destruction. Thorin saw that Bard knew, from the stories of his elders, very well about the power and danger of a dragon. Bard walked up to Thorin.

“You have no right, no right to enter that mountain.” Bard said in a hushed, urgent whisper to Thorin.

“I have the only right.” Thorin whispered back, bitterly, glaring at Bard. He turned around. “I speak to the Master of the Men of the Lake. Will you see the prophesy fulfilled?” he leaned forward a little, knowing just how to speak to this Master, a man bloated and pompous…”Will you share in the great wealth of our people?”

Bard stood closely behind, concerned; knowing the fate of Laketown was now undoubtedly in the hands of this materialistic, selfish man. The people’s murmuring became fell silent, all looked to the Master, who looked about.

“What say you?” Thorin urged.

“I say unto you …”he began. “Welcome, welcome and thrice welcome, King under the Mountain!” The Master proclaimed, throwing his arms up, the cheers of the people erupting all around them. Alfred looked smugly at Bard.

Bard sighed and seethed silently as Thorin turned around to look at the Lakemen in celebration all around. Thorin stared at Bard. He had won…this time, at least. But the look was serious, Thorin was not gloating. There was still so much left uncertain, so much left of this war left to fight. Next time, the battle would be with a dragon.

Bard pursed his lips and walked away back through the crowds, despondent and worried.

Bilbo looked at the retreating man, very concerned about what he had heard this day.

 

 


	6. Boys will be boys

Kili sat on a bench against the window, his chin on his arm which was propped on the windowsill. Outside, the little square in front of the Master’s house, was where Thorin Oakenshield had won over the trust and stirred the hope of the Lakemen. It had been hours since then, yet exultant revelers were still lingering, the free flow of wine from the stores of the Master an unusual reprieve for the downtrodden town. Outside, he could hear the expectation of the people, the hope and wonder...and the greed. Kili sighed, and put his fingers on the cold window, looking outside beyond the frost as the lamplights flickered and waved to and fro in the frigid breeze. He blinked slowly, his body tired, feeling stone cold, his head in a bit of an achy daze, the now constant pain spreading from his leg up into his stomach and chest. It was becoming difficult to ignore.

This little bench was the quietest and warmest spot he could find in this old, drafty building. It was also a place he could put up and stretch out his throbbing leg, without drawing too many stares. He looked back at the dining room, a stone’s throw from where he sat, at the rest of the company. Most of them were now quite happily enjoying the Master’s largesse; drinking his wine, eating his food. Bofur was already well on his way to inebriation, dancing and singing on the tabletops, making a spectacle of himself like he usually did. The people of Laketown at the feast did not seem to mind. If it were another day, Kili would have been all too happy to join in the libations.

Kili closed his eyes slowly, and remembered the last few hours. He remembered his blood starting to boil when the Master went up to his uncle and tried to put his arm around him. Dwalin had to be physically held back from ringing the Master’s fat neck, but the message was clear. Balin had to intercede, and he soothed and distracted the Master with flattery. Dwalin was then put to better tasks; giving instructions to the soldiers as to what weapons and armor they would need for the trip to the Lonely Mountain, before he sat down at the table with everyone else, far away from the Master, to indulge in the food and drink, smirking and shaking his head at Bofur. Thorin sat next to the master, barely able to hide his distain, knowing that was what he needed to do, for appearances, to reward the master for his flagrant displays of generosity.

He remembered looking at Bombur with shock…he didn’t think the dwarf could stuff in any more food without exploding. Oin, Nori, Gloin were arguing about who had spent the most between themselves, Bifur was busy trying to figure out to use the knives and forks, and big brother Dori was arguing with Ori, urging him to eat green food without much success. Bilbo was sitting in the middle of it all, not too far from Thorin, taking everything in in his Hobbitish way.  Kili managed to gulp down a few bites of food and a few sips of brew before his stomach turned and he nearly became physically ill right then and there. He really just needed someplace quiet, so Kili snuck away slowly, leaving his brother’s side, after Fili’s attention was captured by a rather pretty, but drunk, young maiden, asking some fairly personal questions. He felt strongly that, of the two of them, at least Fili should be enjoying himself. Fili had been fluttering around him, worried like a mother hen all night.

On top of his not feeling physically well, which this was for the first time in his life, Kili was feeling quite remorseful; he was mortified that he had disappointed his uncle. He had alerted the entire battalion of soldiers by falling down the stairs at the armory. While he was sitting at the table trying to eat, he saw his uncle from across the room, looking him and whispering to Dwalin. He lowered his head and immediately became uncomfortable, self-conscious, and could not meet his gaze. He should have told Thorin that he couldn’t carry all those weapons. Granted, things did turn out for the better, but it could have been much worse. Kili sighed.  All he wanted was his uncle to respect him. However, he felt he had impressed his uncle before with his skill of the bow and his bravery in the face of danger during this journey. Kili was a fearless, strong, young fighter, and his uncle relied on him heavily. Kili laughed to himself softly; his mother would have called all he did recklessness, all this time.  

But Kili also knew that Fili, being the eldest nephew, was the one Thorin looked to as his heir. Being the crown prince had its responsibilities, and to be honest, Kili wanted no part of that. Fili was the more mature, more patient, more mindful of the two of them; it was good that he was the heir. Kili had resigned himself to never be a King, but would be quite satisfied, and honored, to serve under his uncle and brother in the new Erebor. Kili would stay at Fili’s side, to become his brother’s most trusted confidant and emissary, and would probably like the freedom of travel that came with that. And he would defend his Uncle Thorin and his beloved brother both to the death if need be, that he knew.

Travel; that is what they had done for over a year and they were far away from the Blue Mountains of home. He moved his hand over the smooth glass, remembering the delicious, warm little hobbit Shire. Then there were the Trolls who tried to eat them, the chase through the plains to Rivendell and the kindness of Lord Elrond. Then they unwillingly became a part of stone giants fighting in the Misty Mountains, before literally falling into the Goblin kingdom where they were taken as prisoners. It was by dwarf collaboration, a healthy dose of luck, and a Wizard’s might that they escaped from there. Then there was their fight in the forest with the Orks where he was certain they would die, run up in a tree on the edge of a cliff like quarry to the beasts who were after them. But then he and his brother took one of the most thrilling rides of their lives on the back of an eagle, up to the Carrock. So many places had they been, but the Orks were always on their tail; they were always running, being hunted. Then to Beorn’s house, then through Mirkwood.

He looked out the window again, between his fingers, thinking about Mirkwood, those disgusting spiders, and the awe inspiring Woodland fortress. With a little smile, he remembered the damp, cold dungeons, and the warm, sweet smile of a red-haired she-elf warrior who gazed at stars. Stars were memory, she had said, precious and pure. Kili remembered the heat he felt in his chest when she smiled at him, every little detail of her face as he closed his eyes; it was etched, indelibly, in his mind. He sighed deeply, wondering if he would ever see Tauriel again.

The coldness of the window sunk into his fingertips. Kili shivered and pulled his fingers back from the pane of glass. He put his now quite cold hand inside his jacket to get it warm. He rocked forward a bit, hoping the movement would distract him from the ache rising inside.

“Hello?” a soft voice said. Kili whipped his head around, and eyed a person in a cape and hood coming his way. She put the hood down; it was Sigrid, Bard’s daughter. He nodded his greeting.

“Hello to you too.” Kili said, surprised to see her. She looked him over with questioning eyes, and glanced toward the banquet room.

“Why are you not there with them?” she asked. Kili sat up a bit.

“I already had my fill.” He said. She blinked and looked at his leg.

“You are injured.” She said. “And in pain.”

“Yes...” He admitted, looking down at his leg. “But it will heal.” She pursed her lips and nodded.

“My father has herbs for healing.” She said, approaching closer. Kili was unforthcoming, but he felt no danger from this young woman. She was just being kind, he thought.

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” He refused. He looked at her again. “In any case, I doubt your father wants to have anything to do with us, judging on what he said in the square today.” He lifted up one of his brows. She tilted her head a little to the side.

“What did he say?” She asked.

“That we will bring death to this town.” He said, in a low voice. She took a deep breath.

“You are the Dwarves of Erebor; the King beneath the lonely mountain has returned. It is in the prophecy.” She said. Kili looked at her with a questioning gaze.

“What exactly is the prophecy?” he asked. Sigrid drew closer, sitting next to his injured leg, making sure not to bump it. She slowly recited the whole prophesy. Kili was shocked and disturbed after she recounted it.

“… _all shall fail in sadness and the lake will shine and burn._ That does sound quite ominous.” Kili said, in a low voice, and he looked towards the banquet hall. Did his uncle Thorin know or care about this prophecy? He motioned towards the festive folk. “They do not seem too worried about that last part.” Her pretty face got a bit angry.

“All the Master sees is gold so he can become fatter, and have more wealth. He does not look at the risk to his people.” She said, crossing her arms. Kili knit his brows.

“I do understand your father’s concern. ”Kili acquiesced.  Sigrid nodded.

“If you all get up there and enter the mountain…how will you take care of the dragon?” She asked, tentatively. Kili put his head back and thought for a few seconds.

“We have a plan; it involves retrieving the Arkenstone from the dragon. That is why we have a burglar in our midst.” He revealed. She knit her brows.

“The Arkenstone?”

“The stone which gives the divine right to rule. With that, my uncle Thorin will reunite the dwarf kingdoms.” He said. She nodded in understanding.

“And the burglar?”

“That is the hobbit who is with us, Bilbo. He will… acquire the Arkenstone, somehow. And we have a wizard who will join us, right before we enter the mountain, Gandalf the Grey.” She nodded, and gasped.

“I have more hope that a wizard will be able to help you slay the dragon than the hobbit… but he is very nice, though.”

“Nice does not work with a dragon.” Kili said.

“Which is why father is worried.” She said.

“But flattery may…” he said, “and Bilbo is quite the clever hobbit.”

“But…what if the dragon escapes?” she said, fear growing in her eyes.

“Dragons love gold…” Kili said. “There would be no reason for him to attack Laketown; it has no riches, no gold to attract it, right? That is why he destroyed Dale; it was right outside of Erabor, where there are mountains of gold.” he said, his eyes wandering. “Even if Smaug leaves the mountain, he will return. We will most assuredly have to find a way to kill the beast.” She pursed her lips. “I am certain my uncle has ideas how to do that very thing.” He said, with feigned certainty.

“I hope you are successful in that.” She said. “Only then will Laketown be free from worry.”

A searing stab of pain shot up Kili’s leg and he jumped and gasped, his hands going into fists, his eyes closing tight. His stomach twisted painfully, making him lean over, groaning. Sigrid reached forward, to stop him from falling off the bench, and he practically fell against her. She helped him right himself as the pain waned. He opened his eyes, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry…” he said weakly.

“You really have to get that wound tended to.  Your pain, it is getting worse.” She said. Sigrid could not help thinking it aloud. “This is not normal, for dwarfs, is it?” The dwarf was looking so much paler than before…

“I’ll be fine.” He insisted. They were both distracted by some swift footsteps coming their way. It was Fili. His face was exasperated, and he looked a little bit cross.

“There you are, Kili, I was looking all over for you…” Fili complained. Kili looked his way, the expression of pain still plain on his face. Fili approached him quickly, worry on his face. “What happened?” he said, looking at Sigrid.

“He…he just nearly fell over, in pain.” Sigrid said. “I…I think it is his wound…it is making him sick.” she said. Fili looked from her to Kili.

“It’s ok, just a twinge, it will be fine. You all worry too much.” Kili said, struggling to hide it.

“Kili, it is me you are talking to.” Fili said, taking his brother’s face in his hands, examining the sunken eyes and pale cheeks, sweeping away his dark hair from his pale forehead. Fili breathed in deeply, exasperated. “You are feverish.” He stood up and helped his brother to his feet, Sigrid assisting. “I have found a quiet place for us to sleep in overnight. You need to rest.”

“Yes, that is what I need. To lay down…then I will feel better. I’m sure of it.” He said, more to alleviate his brother’s worry than his own. Fili took Kili’s arm over his shoulder, and wrapped his arm around his body. Sigrid stepped back, her face laced with disquiet.

“I have him.” Fili said to Sigrid, with a thankful smile.

“Thank you…uh…young lady.“ Kili said weakly, feeling quite faint now that he was upright on his feet.

“Sigrid, my name is Sigrid.” She said, backing away. Fili looked back up at her.

“Thank you for everything, Sigrid.” Fili said, tuning slowly with his brother. The brothers Durin walked slowly down a darkened hall, as she watched them go.

“I do hope you feel better…” she said, faintly. Sigrid turned to leave, heading back to her father with the little bit of information she managed to gather, as he told her to. She put her hand around a small knife in her cloak, holding on to it for comfort. Who knew what was lurking about in the shadows at night? She walked out the front door of the master’s house, into the night full of drunken revelers.

Fili and Kili limped down the hall to a small room with two beds and a small chest of drawers; a servant’s quarters, no doubt.

“I have to yell at you for leaving me with that…lady back there.” Fili said, as he sat Kili on the bed. Kili winced and groaned as Fili helped him take off his boots. He glanced at the wound they had bound. It was no longer bleeding, so Fili loosened the binding.

“Oh? I thought you would have had a delightful conversation.” Kili said, groaning in pain as he leaned back into the bed. Lying flat felt so good. He opened his eyes as he felt a blanket thrown on him. Fili smiled sheepishly as he went to the dresser and poured some steaming, amber liquid into a cup. He smelled it and handed it to his brother.

“Here, drink some tea. You look parched.” Fili said. Kili rose up on his elbow, accepting the tea. He was thankful the hot liquid went down without causing painful reactions. He licked his lips, realizing just then how cracked and chapped they were. He handed the cup back to his brother.

“Well?” Kili said, collapsing back on the bed, breathing more heavily than he should have been for the effort. Fili flipped into the bed on the other wall. “What about this lady?” Fili smiled smugly.

“She was very drunk, and way too interested in finding out the sizes of dwarves…privates.” Fili said, a sly look on his face. “She practically attacked me to get a look…” he laughed. Kili’s eyes opened wide and laughed. His brother was quite prudish, that he knew.

“I would have loved to see that!” He said. “Too bad all she had was you as an example...now me…I would have impressed her.” he joked. Kili barely had time to raise his hand to ward off the pillow aimed squarely at his head.

“In your dreams, Kili. You forget, I’ve seen you naked. Now go to sleep. We are getting up at first light and leaving soon thereafter.”

“Alright…” Kili said, his laughter dying down. He winced and groaned in pain as he turned over, facing away from his brother. “I really hope we make it there before the end of Durin’s day…” he murmured. Everything hurt, but his exhaustion still managed to pull him quickly into a fitful slumber.

“I hope we all survive to see the next full moon.” Fili said in a whisper, as he glanced at the other dwarf in the bed across from him, a look of concern permanently wedged on his face as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Kili groaned as Fili pulled open the curtains of the little room. For some reason, the sun was out. It felt as if he had only been asleep for an hour, at most.

“Oh, gods, do you have to do that?” he said. He blinked his eyes open. Fili was fully dressed before him, not only in clothes, but he had on the armor he had seen before on the Laketown soldiers, with weapons around his waist. He also looked like he had been up quite a while. He pulled Kili up unceremoniously.

“I let you sleep as long as I could.” He said, starting to put on Kili’s boots, despite his protest. Kili yawned and stretched, nearly gagging on the pastry Fili shoved into his mouth.

“Hey!” Kili said, chewing. “Wha wa tha fur?” he said, his mouth full. Fili shoved a cup of hot beverage into Kili’s other hand.

“You need to eat a little something, and we have no time. Uncle is waiting on no one. He is itching to get out of this town. Before Dwalin kills someone, no doubt.” Fili explained. Kili chewed and drank quickly while Fili dressed him.  

“He is a lovely guest.” Kili moaned, finally able to help Fili put on the armor. Fili pulled Kili to standing, but Kili’s eyes went blank and he fell forward…Fili caught him, slapping his face.

“Kili…Kili!” he said, urgently. Kili’s eyes closed, fluttered open and he shook his head.

“Stop hitting me!” he fought away from Fili’s grasp. “I just need a few seconds, tis all.”

“You have to be able to walk on your own. They are marching us to the boat, like a bloody parade, with bells and trumpets; the works.” Fili informed him, securing the last of the armor’s panels.

“Oh, no, you must be kidding…” Kili groaned. He breathed hard. Fili stood in front of him, his face serious.

“Tell me…are you able to do that?” He asked. Kili became serious and stood up tall.

“Yes, yes I can. I am feeling better, actually.” He said, trying to convince Fili. Fili pursed his lips and grunted. He turned and grabbed an elongated parcel that had been leaning against the wall. He unwrapped it. It was a bow, and a quiver full of arrows.  Kili smiled widely; a tired, but grateful smile.

“Look what I found. Some wimpy weapons for you.” Fili said, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“You will see how wimpy they are when I save your sorry arse…” Kili started, as they walked out the door of their little room.

* * *

Thorin tried desperately not to roll his eyes as he had to endure yet another set of squealing trumpets that made the short walk to the dock almost unbearably long. He was trying hard not to embarrass his hosts. He glared at Dwalin as he growled at a trumpeter. Thorin was thankful that they stopped the hideous reverie as the dwarfs loaded onto the boat one by one. He grunted a heavy, solemn sigh as he walked in front of his sickly, pale nephew. This was not going to be easy. He held out his arm.

“Not you. We must travel at speed, you will slow us down.” He said, looking past him. He tried not to look into the beloved face of this nephew. He full well knew he would see and feel the disillusionment, and feel almost as badly as Kili did. But he did look at him. Damn.

“What are you talking about, I am going with you.” Kili said, incredulous.

“No, no.” Thorin said, helping them pass the weapons on to the boat. He shook his head, looking at Kili’s eyes again. The sadness and disappointment hit Thorin harder than he expected.

Fili turned around in the boat, listening intently.

“I am going to be there when that door is opened…when we first look upon the halls of our fathers, Thorin...”Kili started, his voice desperate. Thorin approached him, coming in close as he softened his commander’s gaze. If ever there was, this was the time he needed to be like a father to the boy. He put his hand firmly against Kili’s head and looked at him intently, with tenderness.

“Kili. Stay here. Rest. Join us when you are healed.” He said, barely above a whisper, with such gentleness and decisiveness, Kili knew there was no fighting it. Thorin gave him a final, sad smile, and turned around to walk down the dock, before getting onto the boat. Kili backed away, despondency overtaking him. He plodded over to a crate and sat on it. Deep in his mind, Kili knew his uncle was right. He had to admit to the logic of it. He was too sick to go.

“I’ll stay with the lad. My duty lies with the wounded.” Oin said resolutely, climbing off the boat, back onto the dock, walking up next to Kili. Thorin let out a sigh. Next, Thorin knew full well, he had to deal with the other half, his brother. Thorin looked down at him.

Fili was incensed…

“Uncle- We grew up on tales of the mountain, tales you told us. You cannot take that away from him…”Fili said, indignantly.

“Fili…” Thorin tried to interrupt.

“I will carry him if I must!” Fili said, doggedly determined. Fili’s fidelity to his brother made Thorin feel worse than he already did. A good trait for a king; but not right now. Thorin breathed in.

“One day you will be king and you will understand. I cannot risk the fate of this quest for the fate of one dwarf…” Thorin said, shaking his head sadly. “Not even my own kin.” Thorin looked over as Oin tried to examine Kili, who would have nothing of it at that moment, swatting him away.

Fili narrowed his eyes, looked at his brother and back at Thorin. This went against everything he had been taught, practiced and believed. Fealty, brotherhood was paramount. Fili climbed off the boat, anger rolling off of his young face.

“Fili, don’t be a fool…you belong with the company.” Thorin urged, grabbing his arm. This was not going well at all. They needed all the fighters they had, and Fili was one of his best. Fili looked back at him.

“I belong with my brother.” Fili insisted, with as much finality, pulling his arm away from Thorin’s grasp.

Fili walked over to stand next to Kili, who was looking up at him in disbelief. Fili went down on his knee next to him.

The caterwauling of the trumpets began again, and the Master said something grandiose and forgettable.

“Why did you not tell me you were this bad, my boy?” Oin said, his face gravely concerned.

“Why are you here?” Kili whispered to Fili. Fili put his hand firmly on Kili’s shoulder, turning to look at the boat as it left dock.

What Fili did not want to say was that he was deathly afraid that if he went on the boat with the company, he would never see his brother alive again. He sighed as he saw everyone on the boat waving.

Thorin looked back at his nephews and sighed. Maybe It was better this way, he thought. Maybe the Durin boys should stay at Laketown, away from the dragon, so that the line may endure if the worst of fates should befall those now going to meet the dragon.

“No, no, no….agh.” Bofur said, breaking through the crowds, only to see the boat full of dwarves halfway out of the waterway. He groaned and turned around, in despair. He looked at the three dwarves standing on the pier in shock. “What’s this? Did you miss the boat as well?” he asked.

All the emotion and activity and noise made Kili’s head hurt. He started to pant, as the world became unsteady, and began to spin before his eyes. He heard his brother call his name, but he was so far…He felt the world fall away, hands grabbing onto him… It all faded into darkness…

* * *

Up in a tree on the edge of the forest of the settlement nearest Laketown on the shore, Tauriel sat comfortably on the high branch of a great tree, her legs hanging freely, her hair and light skin the only thing setting her apart from the vibrant green of the forest canopy that matched her form fitting tunic. Her astute eyes surveyed the edges of the forest floor to the south; the direction she expected the filthy Orks to appear from. The long bridge nearby was the only access to Laketown from land.

In the distance, she could hear the trumpets and the sound of the people in the town, busy in merriment. She knit her brows; there was no Festival of Man at this time that she knew of… A little rustle to her left caught her ear, and she turned her gaze that way.

Almost soundlessly, through the canopy, swinging on vines, vaulting like an acrobat was Legolas, his silver blonde hair flowing behind him as he maneuvered effortlessly through the twisted boughs, coming to rest lightly on his feet next to her after a rather showy leap. He leaned over to her and pulled a red, ripe apple from his vest. His brilliant blue eyes twinkled, and he smiled warmly. Tauriel could not help the grin that flowered on her face.

“Hungry?” he said.

“A bit. Thank you…” She said, grabbing the apple and taking a big bite, the sweet juices reminding her she had not eaten in quite a while. In unspoken agreement, Legolas’ shifted his keen vision to the edges of the forest as she enjoyed her meal.

“The fruits are so sweet from this woodland.” She mused. His blue eyes moved over to her, his look soft.

“When you are hungry, whatever you feast on is always much sweeter, whatever it is.” He commented. He smirked at her, handing her a small satchel. “The berries are quite good too.” He said, before settling in to the crook of a large bough, leaning back, one leg bent for support, his arm resting on a convenient branch. “I ate my fill already.” She nodded, taking a handful of the sweet, small red berries. She sighed contently as the flavor filled her mouth.

“Autumn is the best time to be here, in these woods, remember, Legolas?” She said, a note of wistfulness in her voice. He looked back at her with a touch of seriousness. “We spent much time in these trees.”

“Of course I remember.” He said, looking back over the waters of the lake.

“I remember our little lodge; the evening mists, the stars in the dark sky against the mountain, and the warm stove.” She smiled.

“And the cold waters, fresh from the spring. And the bird song in the morning.” He said, a gentle, sad smile drifting over his face. “You were quite young.”

“And you were quite jealous.” She joked. Legolas looked at her slyly. Then a little smile raised the corner of his mouth. She mirrored the coy smile, then sighed.

“Your father seemed happier then, more than I have seen him at any time since.” She commented, searching for a reaction. Legolas sighed, and his eyes lowered.

“We stopped coming here when Smaug came.” He sighed.

“I know.” She said. “Why?”

“My father has a severe…distain…for dragons.” He said. Her brows knitted. Legolas took a deep breath and sat back.

“The dragon has not left his golden bed since then…he is not a threat to us.” She said.   Legolas looked at her, his face serious.

“A dragon is always a danger. You do not understand why Thranduil acts the way he does.” Tauriel looked at Legolas with concern.

“Please, Legolas, I do not think poorly of your father, my King; I have great respect…” The hard stare Legolas shot her made her stop midsentence. He looked so like his father with such a cold glare, it made her gasp.

“My father has seen more than his share of war and loss because of dragons. He was a young warrior during the War of Wrath, a fierce and long conflict where dragons devastated the legions of elves. My father was injured so severely, he suffered painful, disfiguring wounds that took centuries to heal.” He blinked his eyes. “Some of those wounds are so deep, I fear  they have never healed.”

“That I did not know…” she said softly. Tauriel leaned forward and listened intently.

“In the next age, dark forces gathered to the east, and when it was obvious that there would be a great battle, and all the warriors were to go to with the king, my father went with them. Man and elf, many tribes, including some dwarf tribes, all joined forces the last great battle on the plains of Mordor. It was  the War of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men.” Legolas closed his eyes. “The battle was lengthy, bloody and devastating. They eventually prevailed, but there were many, many casualties. My father lost his father, King Oropher to the blade of a dark foe.” Tauriel stared at Legolas, in a little shock. “He returned to the forest, with only one third of the warriors surviving the last battle. After his coronation, he met and wed my mother, and they spent several centuries together before I was born. And then he lost her as well…”

“He never spoke of her.” She said softly.

“It hurts him too much to. To this day.” Legolas said, in a remorseful voice.

“I am so, so sorry, Legolas.” Tauriel said, feeling small. Legolas nodded, and he stood up and glanced towards Laketown, trying to tuck his emotions back into their hidden places…Tauriel waited silently, patiently.

“I remember this town, Esgaroth, in its heyday.” He said, with a grunt, sitting back down, after a short pause. “The dwarf king Thror was warned; amassing such a treasure under the mountain would lead to nothing but trouble. My father warned him personally, but Thror would not listen. And they had a falling out over the setting of the starlight diamonds.” Legolas sighed. “Thror continued to collect mountains of gold like a madman, until the smell of gold caught the winged beast’s attention.” Legolas looked up towards the lonely mountain. “When we heard about the attack at Dale and Erebor, we marched towards them as soon as we could gather all our best fighters with great haste; but we were too late. Dale was laid to waste, the forests burned, the people slaughtered, and my father saw the dragon enter into Erebor, through the large doors.”

“I remember. He bid me stay behind; he said I was not ready for battle.” Tauriel said.

“He was right, you were not ready, then.” Legolas said, knowing that fact full well, as he was the one who trained her.

“He did not go to the dwarves aid, because of the quarrel over diamonds?” Tauriel said.

“That may be partially true, but there is more to it than that.” Legolas said. “My father made a rather practical calculation. He saw the carnage of the men of Dale, and he knew he would many of his forces would share in that fate before they could even start trying to pry that dragon from the gold laden mountain, and the vengeance of a dragon is complete devastation of all those who go against them. Smaug would make it a point to attack Thranduil’s Halls, kill us all, and devastate the forest. If he left Smaug alone and did not disturb it; it would just sleep there for many years, leaving Mirkwood alone.” Legolas pursed his lips. “But that meant Erebor would be lost…”

“But we are elves…we are not fragile like man.” Tauriel said.

“But we are few in number, and infinitely more precious to him.” Legolas said, the pride for his father showing through.

“So, is he afraid to fight anyone, anymore?” she asked, softly, not wanting to offend.

“Tauriel,” Legolas said to her in a low voice. “My father is no coward, and will fight when he believes he must and should, but he does fear one thing,” He moved closer to her. “He is afraid of losing anyone else.”

Before Tauriel could say anything more, the Orks burst through the lower edges of the forest. Tauriel and Legolas crouched down, and hid among the boughs and leaves.

Legolas counted the number of Orks that were easy to see; it was over two dozen. A rather large and ominous appearing dwarf walked to the head of them, his sniveling underlings surrounding them. Legolas looked at him with immediate distain.

“ _The scent of dwarf is foul in the air, Bolg.”_ One of the subordinates said, in their brutish Ork language. Bolg sniffed and grunted.

“ _Yes it is. Oakenshield is there for certain. But we must wait till nightfall, or they will escape yet again_.” He said, turning to the ork. “ _Go, find us more fresh meat to eat_.” The subordinate ork scurried off and a group of them infiltrated the forest.

“ _It will not be long before Azog gets his revenge…”_ Bolg said in a low voice, with a foreboding cackle.

Tauriel and Legolas looked at each other, settling in to wait for the dark of night.


	7. What was lost is found

It was a different sound in Laketown; the sound of laughter and celebration.

News about the King under the mountain returning spread through the small, poor town like wildfire. This was just what he townspeople were craving, what they had been waiting for…hope. Hope lit the fire in everyone’s hearts, awakened dreams unrealized, that there would be no more destitution, no more starvation, and that everything would start to turn around for the better. Bard did see that was what this town needed, but he did not see it happening that easily. Bard grumbled when he was awakened by people yelling in the walkways and piers, everyone running to the middle of town, shouting about the parade for the Dwarf King. First there was the noise of revelers all night, now the morning ruckus. It was making Bard more and more irritated.

Bard was more concerned about the fact that soon, a dragon would be awoken. Images flashed through his mind of the stories, or rather nightmares, that were told within his family, generation after generation about Dale. Laketown was his home now, but in all honesty, it never really felt quite right. He remembered looking into Thorin’s face last night.  A face possessed with a quest, one that was single minded, without concern for consequences. In a way, it made sense; the Dwarves had nothing to lose but their lives, and a Kingdom to regain if they were successful. They had traveled far and been through so much. But at what cost to others? That the dwarves did not seem to see or care…Didn’t anyone in Laketown realize?

He sent out Bain and Sigrid to gather what information they could last night. Sigrid was the most successful, she ended up having had a discussion with one of the dwarves. The hobbit, a burglar? Bard knew that hobbits were stealthy, quiet, and unfamiliar to dragons…but what could the little hobbit do? It made him feel a bit better that a wizard was involved; but even a wizard was no match for a dragon.

But Bard remembered, in tales of old, a man, Turin, slay a dragon with a sword.   It was the largest, most powerful winged fire drake, Glaudrung the father of all dragons; his fall flattened three mountains. But due to the dragon’s curse, that all manner of discord shall follow the death of a dragon, Turin died soon after, by his own hand. Bard hoped Thorin or one in his company would be able to perform such a feat as Turin, and if possible, they could avoid such discord. Only then would Laketown, and his family be safe.

Bard sat at the table in the early morning, eating a meager breakfast with his children. They all were silent, looking at each other and out the window. In particular, Tilda seemed the most downtrodden, pouting visibly and playing quietly with her doll at the table. She barely touched her food. Bard looked around at the long faces.

“So, is anyone going to tell me why you are all so quiet?” Bard asked. The kids exchanged glances. A few quiet moments passed.

“I wanted to go see the boat launch.” Tilda said, softly. “I want to say goodbye to the nice hobbit-man, but I know you won’t let us because you don’t like them.” She said, plainly.  Bard sighed, and he turned to his youngest.

“Darling,it is not because I don’t like them…well at least some of them...but I do not agree with what they are going to do, that is the issue.” Bard said earnestly.  She looked up at him.

“But if we were there, won’t we be able to wish them luck, so they will win against the dragon?” Tilda asked, a childlike innocence in her voice. Bard smirked. Oh, the sweetness of childhood…

“I wish that were true, Tilda.” The two elder kids looked at him, pleading. He looked back at them. “Well, I’m not going.” He said, taking another bite. He looked over at Bain, then at Sigrid. He looked down. “Bain, you can go with her if you want…” he acquiesced with a groan.   Tilda stood up, beaming with happiness, the she sat back down.

“If it will make you upset I won’t go.” She said, gripping her doll tightly. Bard shook his head.

“Seeing you mope will make me more upset than you going to see this spectacle. Go on…” he said, urging her out. “Bain, keep an eye on her.” He warned. Bain nodded his head quickly.

“Of course father.” He said, not trying to let his excitement show.

There were precious few times for celebration in the town. Both of the children stood up and rushed to the door, but then stopped and looked back at their sister.   Bard looked around to Sigrid. She stayed right where she was, eating slowly.

“What about you?” Bard asked. She shook her head. Bain and Tilda scurried out the door, down the steps.

“No, Da. I’ll stay with you. I already saw the dwarves I wanted to see last night.” She said, nonchalantly. Bard’s eyes narrowed.

“What?” he said. Sigrid, looked back at him.

“What?” she answered. A slight smile.

“What did you mean by that?”

“The young black haired one and the blonde one were really quite pleasant, for dwarves…they are brothers, you know.” Sigrid answered. Bard was shocked.

“I don’t care if…. Ugh…You have never even seen dwarves before.”

“I know. But they were handsome. Short, but handsome.” Sigrid had a smirk on her face, because of her father’s reaction.

Bard was speechless. It was times like these that scared Bard most; he had to admit to himself that his sweet young Sigrid was indeed a maturing young woman, and he could not coddle her much longer, for her own good.

“I’m just kidding, father.” She said. Bard thought otherwise, but kept his thoughts firmly in his head. A thoughtful, serious expression drifted over her pretty face.

“Father, if you thought all the dwarves would bring to us is trouble, why did you bring them here?” she asked. Bard smirked and clasped his hands, leaning his chin on his hands.

“That is a good question indeed.   They told me they were on a quest to go see their kin in the Iron Hills. They offered me good payment for their passage; monies I know would go far to keep us fed and clothed this winter. Those opportunities do not come often.” He groaned, and looked distant. “I did not realize he was the crown prince of Erebor.” Sigrid nodded.

“Your intentions were honorable.” She said.

“The road to ruin is paved with good intentions.” Bard replied, morosely.

“You would have done differently, had you known what they were really up to.” She said, trying her best to make her father feel better. “But an even more important question, Da. What are we to do if the dragon does awaken?” Bard looked at her with worry.

“If that happens, child, and the fire drake turns his eyes to Laketown…we will be without a home.” He said.

“We could run, go to the lakeshore.” She suggested.

“Yey, that is what we would have to do…” He said, as he glanced at the black arrow hanging from the ceiling, hidden… “But there may be something else…” His voice trailing. Sigrid looked at him, eyes blinking.

“What is it, Da?” She urged, gently.

“Nothing…nothing. Just a wisp of a wish on a prayer…” he said.   “Anyhow, Sigrid. This is not what should be worrying your pretty little head about. You should be taking an interest in things other than …dwarves.” Sigrid smiled shyly.

“Yes father. I wish to travel, to other lands in middle earth. Meet new folk, because no one here really interests me. Maybe go someplace warmer…” she said, sighing. “And not as damp.” Bard leaned back and nodded.  

“We shall see Sigrid. We shall see.” He said. Sigrid stood slowly, feeling as if her father was simply saying that just to silence her. They both cleaned up the wares from breakfast.   He took her arm firmly. Sigrid looked to him.

“It is my job, the one your mother left me with, to take care of you all. But I fear...” he said, a caring, worried expression on his face. “In bringing this danger here, I worry I have failed her…” Sigrid leaned over and hugged him.

“Da. We know you love us.” She cooed.

Just then, a sharp knock came on the door. Bard knit his brows. Bain would not knock. He rose, with a little trepidation, went to the door, and opened it. His eyes dropped down, to the level where the dwarves stood before him. His blood boiled.

“No! I am done with dwarves. Go away!” He said, and pulled the door to close it. Bofur struggled with the door as it swung closed.

“No, Please! No one will help us…” Bofur pleaded, his face stark and sad. “Kili is sick. He’s very sick.” Bard glared at him, then looked past him to the other three… and his face changed to that of concern. The young dwarf he had been eyeing yesterday was even paler, weak and groaning in pain. He was being held up by the others.   Sigrid was at his side in an instant, looking out the door. She gasped.

“Da...” she said. He turned to her. “Please…we must help him.“

Bard’s good nature got the best of him. He could not turn them away.

“I know, I know.” Bard groaned. He motioned them in. “Here, come.” He said, leading them in the house.

“We need to lay him down.” Oin said. Bard pursed his lips and nodded, leading them to the little bedroom. They sat him down and took off his cloak and armor, and laid him down. Kili tossed and turned, grimacing. Bard grabbed a quilt, and brought it to the light haired young dwarf beside him.

“I thank you, sir.” He said, taking the blanket, placing it over his brother. “Kili, try to rest.” Fili said. The old dwarf undid the bandages on Kili’s leg and groaned. Bard looked on. The wound was wide, and oozing, black like tar.   Oin wandered past Bard.

“Agh…By my beard, why did you let it get this bad, my boy? We need hot water, plenty of it. His wound has festered…” he muttered. Sigrid nodded urgently.

“Right. I will put some to boil on the stove.” She said.

“I will…try to say still. But it hurts…everything hurts…” Kili grunted, whimpering. Fili stroked his head, rubbed his back, doing anything he could think of to soothe him. Bard backed up, crossing his arms and he scratched his chin.

“Is it blood poisoning?” Bard said. He knew that was deadly, for man. The old dwarf looked up at him.

“Yes, but not as you know it. This blood poison is dark magic.” He sighed and looked back at the young dwarf. “I have seen this before.” He sighed. “We can do little but watch and wait. His body is young and strong, and may yet be able to fight it.” Oin said.

“And how often do they get better?” Sigrid asked. Oin looked her way sadly and whispered.

“I have yet to see one live, without proper medicine.” Oin said. Bard pursed his lips, and went looking for his store of healing herbs.

A short while later, Kili started to shake and groan louder, his eyes getting red, sweat pouring from him. Fili felt his head.

“His fever has returned.” He said. Fili turned to Oin, who was cleaning out the wound. “Can you not do something?”

“I need herbs, something to bring down his fever…” Oin said, exasperated. Bard rummaged through the little pouches he had in his package of medicinals.

“Nightshade, Feverfew…” Bard said.

“They’re of no use to me. Do you have any Kingsfoil?” Oin asked. Bard turned to Oin, brow knit.

“No…it’s a weed. We feed it to the pigs.” Bard informed them.

“Pigs? Weed…right!” Bofur said, a light going off in his head. He turned back to Kili. “Don’t move!” he said, then he scurried off. Fili and Oin looked at Bofur, then back to each other, puzzled.

* * *

Bain and Tilda eventually came back  from the festivities at the parade, shocked to find they had the company of dwarves again. They moved about silently in the little house, as the dwarves maintained their vigil around Kili. The dwarves  were joined for a short while by Sigrid, who showed Fili how to soak rags with cold water, mopping the cool liquid over Kili’s face, chest and palms, just like she did to her siblings when they were ill with fever. It seemed to help a bit; Kili settled down enough to go into a fitful, paroxysmal sleep, but not really a rest. Sigrid got up, and tended to making dinner for them all; and a bit of soup for Kili. Then the pain started again, and Kili writhed and groaned almost continually.

A bit later, a sound like distant thunder shook the house, and dirt dropped from the rafters. Everyone looked up and about. Bard’s children looked his way

“Da?” Sigrid said.

“It’s coming from the mountain.” Bain said. Bard looked around, his face stark with realization. The dragon had awoken. Fili walked from the little bedroom to where Bard was, as the sounds of Kili’s suffering grew louder.

“You should leave us. Take your children and get out of here…” Fili said, urgently. Bard looked around and stared at Fili. He knew his intentions were good, but…

“And go where? There is nowhere to go.” Bard said, looking down.

“Are we going to die, Da?” Tilda said, walking up to her father, fear on her face.

“No, darling.” He said, smiling at his youngest. She was not convinced.

“The dragon, it’s going to kill us…” Tilda despaired. Bard took a deep breath and looked up, into the rafters. He grabbed hold of a long beam of iron and pulled it free of its attachments… it was a black arrow. He turned around and the children’s eyes widened, their mouths dropping opened.

“Not if I kill it first…” He said.

Bard and Bain left the house and snuck around in the evening gloom on their way to the Wind lance.

“Alright…” Bard said, waving Bain on, looking all around for those annoying spies.

“A black arrow…why did you never tell me?” Bain questioned his father, incredulous.

“Because you did not need to know…” he said. They scurried into the shadows as a pair of guards walked by. He put his arm around his boy. “Listen to me carefully. I need you to distract the guards. Once I am at the top of the tower, I will set the arrow to the bow…” he said. Several guards were crossing a bridge.

“There he is…Bard! After him!” A guard shouted.

“Down there!” Bard whispered, urgently. “Go!” he said, pushing Bain ahead of him.

“Stop him!” they shouted, Bain and Bard ran away. When they turned a corner and were alone for a moment, Bard whipped around his son, and put the arrow in his hand.

“Bain, Bain…Keep it safe…don’t let anyone find it!” he ordered his son, in rushed whispers, looking at him seriously.

“No…no…I’m not leaving you…” Bain tried to refuse.

“I’ll deal with them. Now. Go!” Bard yelled loudly. Bain breathed a frustrated sigh and ran off. Bard walked headlong into one of the groups of soldiers pursuing him.

“Bugar…you are under arrest.” The guard said.

“On what charge?” Bard asked.

“On any charge the Master chooses.” He replied. Bard turned back around and swung hard, hitting the guard with a roundhouse punch, knocking him over. He kicked and fought back the guards coming at him from either side.

Bain gasped, seeing his father being chased. He jumped into a boat, the one at the base of the statue in the canal, and he quickly hid the black arrow.

Bard broke free and ran fast, over creaky, unsteady wharfs, through boats, much more agile than the Guards who were weighted down with armor…As he ran down a dark alley, a foot tripped him. He flew through the air and landed on a stand.   He looked around, dazed and barely saw the figures of the Master and Alfrid in front of him before he felt a sharp pain on his head, and the world went black…

Some unprescribed time later, Bard woke up with his head pounding …in the jail.

* * *

Creeping, crawling black creatures oozed their way over the roofs of Laketown, sniffing the air, following the scent of a dwarf who was scurrying about looking for Kingsfoil. Bofur leaned over and stole a branch from a disgruntled pig. He ran back along the causeways, unaware that he was being followed. Bolg stood mightily on a roof while the rest followed around him. The Orks tracked Bofur all the way back to Bard’s house.

Back inside the little house, Fili was fearful, loosing hope. Kili’s fingers were turning blue, his eyes widening madly, and his breathing was labored, the constant groans of pain growing into screams. It was as if a creature was eating him alive from within, the way Kili was writhing in agony. In the last hour, Kili no longer looked at Fili as if he recognized him as his lifelong, constant companion. Fili had to hold him down tightly just to keep him on the bed. It hurt Fili deeply to see his brother suffer this way.

A few creaks above them signaled Oin that something was wrong. Then they heard Sigrid's high pitched scream from just outside the door…Sigrid had good instincts, she shoved at the beast and pushed it out, trying desperately to close the door on the creature. Another one burst through the door and swung at Sigrid, and she fell back, flinging herself out of the way, across the table.

Oin turned, throwing a stack of dishes at the next one who busted through the ceiling. Tilda screamed and did the same. Sigrid crept under the table and grabbed Tilda. Fili erupted out of the bedroom area corner, shoving an ork hard against the wall, away from the children. Kili sat up, vaguely aware of the chaos occurring around him.  Oin engaged another ork, with brute strength. Bain grabbed a bench, and shoved it into one ork, and flung it into its face.

Outside, Bofur narrowly escaped one ork and his hatchet, but another one was dragging him down the stairs and he was thrown against a cart that shattered. The vile creatures were coming fast, more and more of them.

An arrow skewered the ork who was about to chop Bofur in two…

Another ork uttered a death cry as he stood at the doorway of Bard’s house, a blade in his chest, and he fell back…

* * *

Legolas and Tauriel stalked the ork stalkers, smoothly, silently leaping from rooftop to rooftop a short distance behind them. The orks were so focused they did not even know the lethal elves were fast approaching. The elves stood tall, side by side, on a tall house, red and blonde hair waving in the breeze as they watched the orks descend on a little  house…there was screaming and scuffling, the sound of fighting erupting within the house. Tauriel could not stay still any longer. Tauriel leaped up and forward, flipping past orks, rushing in between orks still on their way, making quick work of them with her deadly blades.

“I told you to wait until we were sure!” Legolas growled, unleashing his bow on an ork baring down on Tauriel, and one about to kill a dwarf at the bottom of the stairs, spinning around to slice the head off of another one trying to attack him from behind.

“I’m sure the dwarves are here and we will be too late if we wait.” Tauriel said angrily, throwing her knife into the chest of one ork, grabbing it, and using the same knife to slit the throat of another. Legolas groaned. He knew Tauriel just could not help herself around orks…

“Fine…I’ll clear the roof of these horrid things.” He said, leaping into the fray…

“I will take the more direct approach…” she said. She killed an ork who was about to block her entry…

Tauriel appeared at the front door, her eyes steely, her teeth bared, her hands wrapped firmly around her knives. She walked into the infested little house. She took note of the children cowering near the table, and the two dwarfs fighting without weapons. She looked around and her anger erupted in action. Within seconds, she spun and she delved her blade deep into the four orks in her immediate vicinity.

Sigrid could only stare in astonishment as the red haired she-elf fought and slay all the orks around her, efficiently, effortlessly. A blonde man-elf dropped through the ceiling; his handsome face in a menacing snarl, and Sigrid gasped; he was magnificent. He became a blur of metal and brown clothing and silver-blonde hair as he killed orks, every step he took. She saw how the elves worked in concert; the blonde elf flipped and threw a blade that was caught by the she elf, and she turned to slay another beast trying to enter into the door. Not a movement was wasted…

Sigrid looked back at Kili, as he cried out, an ork grabbing his leg. The she elf noticed as well, and spun around, a deadly, accurately aimed knife finding its target. Kili dropped on the floor confused, flustered.

“Get down!” Fili insisted. Fili pushed the children back, away from the fighting, knowing the elves had this, and it was just best to stay out of their way.The elves worked quickly, the carnage laying all the orks to waste in their wake.

Kili, in his haze, saw the blade in the dead ork, and somewhere in his instinctive warrior mind, he used his waning strength to crawl back onto the bed and pull it from the body. He turned around, and saw an ork in front of him, and a blur of red and green in front of it. 

 _Wait, could it be_? he thought, the whole situation not entirely clear to him in his feverish daze, but he knew the ork was threatening her.  Even in his sickness, he would not see that happen... Kili launched himself at the ork, delving the blade in its chest. He would not go down without a fight.

But the effort was too great, the pain racking his body rose to a higher degree, and he was barely able to breathe, so he dropped to the ground, shaking…

Tauriel gasped, and stood staring at Kili, her heart in her throat again.  He looked so sick. He screamed out in pain…

An ork flew out of the door, leaping into a boat. Legolas went after him, and saw Bolg at the bottom of the stairs, walking away. Legolas threw another ork off the balcony, dead, and chopped the head off of the one that was catapulted into the air. He looked angrily at the retreating black blooded creatures…

Inside the house, Bain stood up, surveying the devastation. They were alive though, all but the orks..

“You killed them all…” Bain said.

“There are others…” Legolas said, walking quickly through the house, his intense look fining its mark… “Tauriel…come…” he said, insistently. He paused at the door and looked back.

Tauriel had not moved…she seemed paralyzed, standing like a statue over a dwarf with black hair writhing on the floor, her face a mask of disappointment and shock.

As he looked on, realization washed over Legolas slowly. This must be the black haired archer the ork spoke of. It was also the same dwarf Tauriel saved in the forest, and spoke with so tenderly in the dungeons, the same dwarf who was always staring at Tauriel before…

Tauriel had come to Laketown looking for this dwarf.

“We’re losing him!” Oin said, holding on to Kili, his voice cracking, as he looked up at the she-elf.

Tauriel looked up at Legolas, her eyes wide, sad, desperate. She was not yet moving…

Legolas breathed hard…is this what had their travel, their fight had been for? He looked down at the floor. The dwarf looked to be in the throes of death. There was nothing more they could do for the little imp. Legolas pursed his lips. Confusion flitted over his face. This did not make sense. Why would Tauriel care about this sniveling little dwarf?

“Tauriel…” Legolas said again, softer, beckoning her. Then he left, leaping from the balcony onto the bridge, in pursuit of the withdrawing orks.

Tauriel pursed her lips and walked swiftly to the door, her duty to her prince calling her. Kili groaned in pain and it made her freeze in her tracks. Tauriel stood still for a second more, listening to Legolas’ light footfalls as he went away, the cry of an ork being slain. She looked down and back at Kili…

With a sigh, she grabbed for her knives and crouched down, about to launch herself from the balcony to follow Legolas.

Just then, Bofur marched up the stairs with a sprig of …could it be?  

“Athelas…” Tauriel said, reaching for it, holding the precious healing herb gingerly. ”Athelas…” She whispered, looking back into the house.

“What are you doing?” Bofur asked, incredulous…

“I’m going to save him…” she whispered. She turned and entered back into the house. Kili began to quake and scream out loudly…Tauriel looked around, and approached the little girl. “Quick; I need a bowl of fresh water.” She looked back at the dwarves, who were huddled around Kili. “Put him on the table. I need to see the wound.” She said, urgently. No one questioned her, save Bofur.

“Can someone tell me what is happening?” he said, looking about…

“Shut up and help us, Bofur…” Fili growled. The dwarves lifted Kili, who was bucking wildly like a man possessed.

Tauriel washed the Athelas in the water, rapidly stripping the small leaves off the branches as the dwarves wrestled with Kili, barely able to keep him on the table. Sigrid and Tilda reached in to help.

Tauriel looked down at Kili; she could feel it, his life was draining away.  Deep within her, she felt despair; she could not let that happen.  With a soft eye on the sick young dwarf, she opened her heart to him.  That was the only way this would work…she breathed deeply, putting herself into a profound, healing trance. The elvish blessing would dissolve and expel the dark magic now in possession of his young body…No darkness could withstand that light.

The healing Sindarian incantation flowed from deep within her, winding itself around them, as she crushed the healing leaves between her long, strong fingers, concentrating their power. She pressed the leaves into the festering ork wound.

Kili let out a particularly blood curdling scream, his body stiffening. Fili struggled with him for a few moments as he stared at the elf leaning over his brother.  Then he noticed that Kili’s body began to quiet down, muscle by muscle, relaxing, his groaning quieting to silence. Fili looked at his brother’s face; Kili was staring wide eyed at Tauriel, and she at him. Fili backed away a little, as did all others surrounding them…

Moments later, Kili’s head fell back, and whatever remaining tension there was in his body released itself in an instant; the only way to know he still lived was the fact that his chest rose and fell with deep, cleansing breaths. At the same moment, Tauriel leaned over him, and became silent, her hands still clenched around his leg, her eyes closed shut, breathing deeply, matching Kili’s breathing pattern, breath for life saving breath.

* * *

Kili felt as if he was chained in a dungeon, at the hands of an invisible tormentor…he could barely see before his own eyes anymore. Within his stomach there were a thousand chomping beetles, ripping and tearing him apart, and his chest was surrounded by knives between each rib. His arms and legs were burning, engulfed in searing pain, his fingers and toes achingly numb. He could no longer hear the screams coming from his torn and ragged throat, but he knew he was screaming. His face was being ripped at by razor tipped claws, and his head was on fire and felt like thousands of hammers were working on his skull without reprieve, the loudness deafening…he begged internally for death, silence, numbness, anything to end this…

Then, before his cloudy vision, there was a light in the darkness, one that grew brighter and brighter as it approached. Instinctively, he tried to reach out for it, but his body would not obey. He felt himself rising, bit by bit the torture subsiding, the burning pain in his extremities being replaced by a soothing coolness, the aches in his stomach retreating, the knives in his chest falling away. The pounding in his head quieted and gave way to the subtle soft sounds of a soft female voice whispering a melodic chant like birdsong. He was surrounded by the light, engulfed by a healing warmth and he felt his body break away from its bonds and float freely.

Kili breathed deeply, wanting to weep. He was finally no longer in pain, his consciousness hazy, drawing him to peaceful slumber, his eyes heavy. But he struggled against it, wishing his eyes to stay open, to see the face that was taking shape within the dimming light, as he struggled to recognize the soft eyes, the delicate features, the flowing hair as the light faded into darkness…

One name lingered in his mind as he lost consciousness…

 _Tauriel.._.

 

 


End file.
